Reignition
by HowlingAtTheMoon13
Summary: Rose was a survivor even before she was reaped for the 74th Hunger Games. There are some lines she won't cross however, even if Cato really hates hearing the word 'no'. "Do you really think he's a monster?" "I think maybe he's a little bit broken too," I answer quietly, "but I have to believe that we don't stay broken forever."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

 *** Chapter One ***

It's the sense of freedom, I think.

Tantalising and unreachable. The illusion makes me feel strong, and beautiful. In control. It makes me feel like I have the power to choose who I am, what I do with my life and where I go. It's hard not to feel that way when it seems like you're on the top of the world.

Orange seeps through pale grey, bleeding into the dawn and cutting through the light mist that shrouds the tops of the trees. Shafts of light filter through the leaves, down to the forest floor that is carpeted in a thick layer of aromatic pine needles. Wind whispers through the branches, sending a pinecone tumbling down to the shadowed depths and making my hair stir from my shoulders.

When it's hit by the rays of the rising sun, it almost looks auburn instead of dark, dark brown. The light plays similar tricks on my skin and for a moment it looks closer to the golden brown tan shared by most of my district. A district that is slowly starting to come to life.

Even on reaping day, nobody can sleep for too long after sun-up. The birds make too much ruckus and with so much to do, only the privileged can afford to waste daylight hours. On a normal day, I would have had to leave my spot in the big, old pine closest to our house, much sooner. It would be by the first rays of light that I climbed back down to reality. On Reaping Day however, I crave the quiet, peaceful tranquility more than ever. I'm mesmerised by the ethereal beauty of weak sunlight breaking apart the mist that cloaks the trees below in the valley, by the river that rushes through the basin and by the distinct colour of dawn. A blue so pale it's a grey. I close my eyes and inhale the sharp, clear scents of cool breeze, pine needles and rich, moist earth. Listening to the sounds of the birds, the faint roar of the river, the trees settling in the wind and the faint chirp of crickets.

It's with reluctance that I slip down from my haven. Clambering, nimbly back to the ground and immediately feeling smaller and more insignificant as I look up at the towering trees. I'd love to stay there forever, watching the sun climb higher in the sky and then sink back down again. Seeing the rise of the moon and gazing up at the stars, wondering if there's anybody else also looking up and wondering what lay beyond the world we were enclosed in. But, it's Reaping Day and there are things that must be done.

I move quickly and quietly through the trees, my hand checking that the coins still remain in my pocket, until I emerge in the town square. It's not much of one. This isn't the main square of our district. It's an outlying post, for lumberjacks like my family and the shops and tradesmen that always sprung up around us. It'll be an hour by barge down the river and then at least another hour's walk, or a shorter cart ride to the main square. It's Reaping Day though, so we should be able to get a cart. The Capitol doesn't give room for excuses as to why people aren't present for the ceremony. They're generally very good about providing transport.

I snort quietly in contempt and am treated to the sight of the baker's ditzy daughter almost leaping out of her skin in fright. She's switching the sign from 'closed' to 'open' and she hadn't seen me coming. Now she does though and her bright expression falters as she recognises me. Disgust mixes with fear and she hurriedly re-enters her family shop. I hold my head high and push the door open too. The bell above the door rings jauntily, but the baker's daughter hurries into the back, leaving me for her mother to deal with.

"Good Morning, Rosilda," the baker's wife greets me.

She's a kind woman, with honey brown hair and and a round happy face. I often wonder why her daughter puts so much stock in gossip when her mother barely seems to notice it.

"Happy Hunger Games Mrs Burgen," I reply, my voice even, but a small sardonic smile flitting across my lips at the phrase.

Her bright smile falters momentarily, but it's back in place almost at once,

"The same to you Dear. The usual, I presume?"

The brown paper packet she produces before I've even nodded shows she knows the answer better than I do. I take it with a murmur of thanks, feeling the warmth of the newly baked loaf through the wrapping. I go to hand her the money - another routine - but she breaks tradition, by giving me the price.

I falter, looking up at her in confusion,

"I'm sorry, don't you-"

She repeats the price gayly. As if it's not a third cheaper than the usual fare, and squeezes my hand when I wordlessly hand the money over to her, slipping the extra coins back into my pocket and pondering what I shall spend them on.

"Thank you Mrs Burgen," I say firmly, as I reach for the door handle.

"Don't mention it Dear. Good luck today. It's your last year, is it not?"

I nod and manage a weak smile. We both know that the sweetness of almost being free is overshadowed by the fact that at eighteen, you have the most names you could ever have. For me, with four older siblings and two younger, as well as my parents, that's seventy two slips of paper with my name on them. Still, four of my siblings escaped the reaping, unscathed, with the same number. My name has yet to be called, why should now be the year?

"Just think, in a few hours, it'll all be over."

"I hope so," I say, forcing a smile and not pointing out that for twenty-four children, the nightmare will only just be starting.

"Rise and shine Laurel!"

My fourteen year old sister groans loudly and rolls onto her stomach, hiding her face in her arms,

"If I'm going to die within the week," comes her muffled voice, "Can you at least let me sleep-in first?"

I roll my eyes,

"Guess Robin and Fletcher will be able to eat all the strawberries I found… did I mention I bought honey to go with our bread?"

Laurel groans again, but still doesn't move to get up,

"I'll be there in a minute. Don't let them eat all of it!"

"We'll have to leave in about an hour, Laurel!" Robin calls from the kitchen, his voice filled with amusement, "And you still have to get dressed and stuff too!"

"Don't you want to look pretty for the cameras!" Fletcher jokes.

I sigh quietly as my little sister immediately bolts upright. While I care very little about appearances, and often wonder if things would be different - better different - if I was less physically attractive, Laurel's fluctuating self confidence means she always puts a lot of effort into looking good.

"Come and eat first," I say firmly, wincing as she crashes to the floor, from trying to stand up with her feet tangled in the blankets.

I offer her a hand up and squeeze it, not letting go until she stops her frantic looking around the room and focuses on me,

"We'll get ready together," I offer softly.

Her worried expression loosens and an excited smile spreads across her face,

"Really? Does that mean you'll let me do your hair and things?"

Unable to disappoint her, I just nod and smile faintly as she lets out a little squeal and throws her arms around my waist. Almost immediately she starts to pull back, guilt and worry flooding her face as she scans my expression,

"I'm sorry Rose-"

"No," I murmur, consciously loosening my tense shoulders and pulling her back, "I'm fine."

She resists for a moment longer, then sighs happily and squeezes me tightly. A wide smile spreads across my face and with difficulty - a great deal more of it than I would have liked - I manage to rest my chin on top of my baby sister's head.

 _When did she get so tall?_

" _Rose_!" Robin's whine from the next room makes me remember that I forbade the boys from touching the food until our parents and older sister were awake and Laurel and I were ready, "We're all waiting!"

"Shut up Rob!" Laurel growls, pulling away from me and straightening her old pyjamas, before leading the way out of the room, "Waiting a few extra minutes won't kill you!"

He sticks his tongue out at his twin sister, a childish gesture that she doesn't hesitate to reply to in kind as she slumps down on the seat beside him. I slip into the one between my mother and older brother, glancing around the table. Of my six siblings, there's only four still living at home. Though that number is set to decrease soon. I smile across the table at Tillia. She's older than me by four years and is engaged to be married soon. As always, there's a crease of worry between her brows and a tired smile on her lips. Even though it's Reaping Day and she's been working longer and longer hours to save as much money as possible, she can't keep the smile at bay. It makes me glad to see her so happy, though I'll miss her when she moves out.

Just like the eldest of us, she'll move into an 'assigned' house with her husband. In reality, the reason Tillia is working so hard is to support her fiancé as he rushes to finish building their new home. That's life when you live in a part of the district that's only really cropped up in the last three decades. Our own parents came here when they were married because there was both a need for a seamstress and plenty of work for a typical logging lumberjack. Still is.

"Honey?" Tillia frowns slightly, glancing at me curiously, "How'd we afford that?"

"Honey!" Fletcher moans, smearing a large amount onto his slice of bread, "You know what Rose? I don't think I tell you how much I love you often enough."

I smile as Laurel and Robin take turns to greedily spread it on their own bread, their own eyes lit up with happiness,

"Mrs Burgen charged me far less than normal today," I explain for my more money conscious sister and parents' benefit. I pull out the remaining coins and push them towards my father, "I've even still got change."

My parents exchange a long glance and Fletcher pauses in his devouring to lift an eyebrow curiously,

"Reaping Day," I shrug, "She wished me luck too."

I wish I can take back the words the moment I see the effect they have. Laurel knocks her knife to the ground with a clatter, Rob's face goes extremely pale and my Mother grips the edge of the table so hard her knuckles go white. Fletcher and my father exchange tense looks and Tillia's smile vanishes.

"It's your last year Rose," Robin murmurs, still deathly pale, he injects a positive tone into his voice and manages a small smile, "You'll be out of the reaping for good!"

"And you and Laurel will be one year closer to being safe too," Dad says and I see him reach under the table to squeeze my mother's hand.

Nobody says a word about what might happen if we get picked. Fletcher jokes about me being an adult, putting into words the unspoken assent that being safe from the reaping makes you no longer a child. Tillia says we should celebrate tonight and Dad notes there's a bottle of elderberry wine and apple cider in the cupboard that we've been saving for a special occasion. He winks at me as he says it, knowing my partiality towards the cider.

"We can invite Glen and Felicity," Robin notes in the same forced positive tone.

"And Laina," Tillia agrees happily.

I perk up, at the thought of spending some time with my brother and his pregnant wife, and my eldest sister. If Laina's coming, that means she'll have to bring Willow. My niece is four years old and absolutely adorable. She inherited her father's slightly unusual shade of auburn hair and Laina's big hazel eyes, and I swear the little girl has every person in her life wrapped around her finger. She reminds me of Laurel at the same age. I glance at my sister and see that she's systematically shredding her chunk of bread into little pieces. Her face has taken on a grey pallor and her wide eyes are fixed on her glass of milk, glazed over, but still filled with apprehension. Her shoulders are hunched and her mouth pressed together tightly. From the anxious glances Robin keeps shooting her, it's easy to see that his forced joviality is for her sake.

It's Fletcher poking fun at Tillia for being hesitant to ask if her fiancé can come that finally makes Laurel ease up. At fourteen, she might have been through two reaping already, but that doesn't lessen her fear. I don't remember ever being as terrified of the Hunger Games as my baby sister is, but then again, my fourteen year old self would have probably embraced the possibility of imminent death. That was about the time my world was completely shattered after all.

"I'll see you two after this is all over, alright?" I say to the twins, touching a hand to each of their shoulders and looking steadily at Robin until he nods, before turning my gaze to Laurel.

We've just signed in and are now supposed to be taking our places in the overcrowded age-group pens. Being eighteen myself, I'm at the back. Which is a relief because it means I don't have to try and fight my way through the hordes of people to get to where I'm supposed to be. Unfortunately for Laurel and Robin, they do have to try and squeeze through to the fourteen year old section. I'd be happier about leaving them if they could go together. Robin might be oblivious and some-what tactless most of the time, but it couldn't truthfully be said that he didn't care about his twin sister more than anything else in his life. It worked both ways too, I'm not sure anyone would be able to ease Laurel's terror more than Rob. Unfortunately, the boys and girls are separated by the aisle, so we'll all be going our separate ways.

Laurel's eyes are glassy from tears that have been suppressed for the last hour and wide with pure fear. I don't want to leave her like this, but we don't really have much choice. I take a deep breath and step closer to her to give her a tight hug, smoothing her hair as I step back to eye her steadily,

"Don't let them have the satisfaction of seeing how scared you are," I say softly, too quietly for any but my siblings to hear over the noise of the crowd, "You're going to be okay."

I can say it with certainty, because I already know what will happen if her name is called. She'll be fine because I will volunteer if she's reaped. Laurel deserves to grow up. To have her chance at happiness. Her life is worth more than mine. It's as simple as that.

I wait until she gives a me quivering nod and takes a long, deep breath, tightening her jaw and standing up straight, then touch her shoulder once and look to Robin. He grimaces back, but doesn't hesitate to slip his hand into Laurel's and pull her slowly away. They both turn to look back at me, but I give them a nod and encouraging smile, before turning and slipping through the crowd. While it hurts my pride to admit it, my four years younger brother is a significant amount taller than me now. It's a recent development, and I haven't quite adjusted to having to look up at him, but it will help him navigate the crowds. He'll be able to get Laurel to her area and back to his before the clock hits eleven thirty. As for me, I have a different thing going for me in terms of being able to get through the almost solid mass of people. I might not have the view or stockiness of my brother, but I do have my speed and nimbleness. Not to mention the people who recognise me part like the red sea, as if I'm diseased and infectious.

I dance and wriggle my way through the mass of people in record time, ducking under the boundary rope for the eighteen year old section and firmly planting myself there. I refuse to allow myself to be caged in by the other girls of my age group. I can think of little worse than spending the next forty minutes unable to move due to the crushing number of people packed in close proximity to me. I go as far as to grip the rope between my fingers and plant a glare on my face. The girls still arriving leave me be - save for the odd irritated look - though most seem to be anxious to find friends and willingly push deeper into the mass of people. I pass the time waiting for eleven thirty vacantly watching the other children of my district. We're one of the largest districts in population and the square is packed with children alone. Everybody over the age of eighteen will be crammed into side streets, contenting themselves with speakers and big screens that will show the live Capitol broadcast.

It amuses me to see the way the other girls of my age act. They all put on a brave face, acting unfazed. None of them have been reaped yet, they're on their home stretch, desperately trying to believe that if they haven't been chosen yet, they won't be chosen now. Many are chattering with their neighbours, laughing and eyeing the area of boys across the aisle. It's an excuse to dress up and look pretty and all around me have risen to the occasion. New dresses, fine shoes, make-up and pretty hairstyles. It's ironic that for the first time ever, I feel similarly made up. Laurel made good on her excitement and I'm wearing the bride's-maid's dress I'm to wear to Tillia's wedding. A risk that is significantly lessened by the fact my mother and eldest sister are a wiz with all forms of material. They can get stains out of anything, mend any tear… which is just as well considering the scrapes I get myself into.

Laurel's also braided the front parts of my hair back so it's held off my face and coaxed my often tangled long dark hair into loose ringlets. She'd even got Tillia in to colour my lips and darken my lashes. Of course, Tillia had to go above and beyond and outline my eyes in black too. Which according to both them and my mother - who said it later as we bordered the barge - made my eyes bigger and brighter. I can see similar effort in the other girls' appearances too. Unlike me however, there is real fear in their eyes, that they can't quite hide beneath light-hearted smiles and airy giggles. I recognise nothing in their faces. Most of them will be older than me - my eighteenth birthday having been a mere two weeks ago - and are a year above me in school. They'll all be coming to the end of their last year. I still have another to go. It's not just that either. I go to school much closer to home than the main Town Square outside the District 7 Justice Building. The children there are from my village and from two other logging outposts close by. It's a twenty minute cart ride or a half hour walk to school, but that's much better than the hours by barge and cart to get to the main village. Not to mention the way back. You can't catch a barge upstream.

I rouse myself when the squeal of a microphone cuts through the noise of the crowd. The mayor clears his throat gruffly and says a few mumbled words that are rendered illegible by static. I'm pleased by this, having no desire to hear the slimy arse of a man speak. I know the proceedings. The welcome words, the introduction of Seven's Victors - all four of them - and the announcement of who will be mentoring these Games. Nobody with half a brain will be surprised by Johanna Mason being named as a mentor. She's our most recent victor, having won the seventy-first Games only three years earlier. She's young, attractive and fierce, everything the Capitol wants in a victor. The fact that she broke an almost two decade long losing streak with all the other mentors being middle-aged makes her a given.

Not that I mind that. Johanna Mason is intimidating as hell, but she's also my sort of person. She's smart, strong-willed and knows how to play to her strengths. Being somewhat skilled at deception myself - I'd consider myself to be a veteran at pretending to be something you're not, in fact - I caught onto her plot quickly. I didn't know her at all before she was Reaped, but nobody with eyes as accusing as hers was a complete push-over. Johanna Mason knew hardship before she was reaped. She knew exactly what winning would require, what it would cost her, and she was willing to pay it. That's why she won. That's why I knew she would win.

The other mentor is a man named Hillier. This does surprise me because Hillier is the eldest of our victors. He won the twenty-somethingth game at sixteen and must be about seventy by now. I'm not sure I can remember the last time he was called up for mentoring. My eyes track over the final two victors on the stage. There must be a reason. I realise at once what that reason is.

Blight and Cynthia are both what I would call a little unstable. They always have been. Blight drinks heavily and Cynthia has always set me on edge. There's something decidedly unhinged about the maniacal gleam in her eyes. She's always been bone-thin and looked a little unkept, though with the winnings the Capitol provides, she should be living in luxury, I've always frowned at her weight. Now, her hair's so limp and brittle and she's so gaunt, frail and grey faced, that she resembles a corpse… or maybe a morphing addict. I suppose she could be either, who knows what the Capitol's technology is capable of these days.

Blight on the other hand is on the heavier side. He's lolled back in his seat and could quite possibly be asleep. He's got a scraggly beard, questionable stains on his shirt and looks almost as old as Hillier, though he can't be older than fifty.

Seems to me like Johanna and Hillier really are the best choices.

The mayor rambles on about what I assume to be the Dark Days and for half the speech, it is blissfully impossible to understand a word of what he is saying. Then with a long, high-pitched squeal, the sound quality vastly improves and his voice booms out thunderously. I wince and some girls around me clap their hands over their ears. The mayor lowers his voice, but it's more a problem with the audio system rather than with him. Nobody fixes it, probably thinking too-loud is better than impossible to comprehend, but the result is a volume of speech that is impossible to tune out.

Finally, the mayor introduces our Capitol escort. There's a stirring of interest, because it's not the same Capitol man that's been at every Reaping I can remember. The mayor introduces the woman as Anariel Lovelace. She's young, that's the first thing that strikes me. The second is her beauty, it's beauty that I can appreciate too, because it's not completely unnatural. She's got auburn hair that is perhaps a tad too deep and shiny to be completely natural, and instead of being piled up in some ridiculous tower, it's loose around her face. Her dress is a green and brown combination that compliments our district, alien in it's design and revealing cut, but simple and probably conservative by Capitol standards. The only thing about her that distinctly marks her as being from the Capitol are the tattoos that swirl around her forearms. The distance renders them smudges of colour, but the big screens show them to be vines. The leaves curl around her arm, bright purple flowers blooming alongside. They're beautiful adornments and I've never seen anything more striking or so unique.

She has a quiet voice. The Capitol accent not quite so harsh on my ears in her soft tones. It's easy to tell that's she's extremely nervous, because she stumbles a few times in her speech. The second time she does so, a boy in the eighteen year old section wolf whistles loudly. I scowl in his direction and Anariel goes bright red, looking extremely flustered.

It's not any of this that really makes me accept her though. It's the fact that she doesn't blab on about the Games. She says she's honoured to be here, but she talks about our district. Says she's always dreamed of seeing the beauty of our forest and the roaring river. The only mention she makes of the Games is hoping that any of us who see her home will find it's beauty equally as curiously captivating.

Next comes the video. The propaganda piece about how Panem rose up from the ashes and the districts bit at the hand that fed them. Cue the Hunger Games as punishment for our sins.

It makes me angry and I can quote it almost word for word so I allow my attention to drift. I focus instead on something I've been considering doing in the weeks since my birthday. Eighteen is technically the year you come of age. Being no longer eligible for the Hunger Games is also considered to make you an adult. Ergo, I'm an adult. As an adult, it is my opinion that I should have more freedom.

Not to say my parents are needlessly strict. They're not. In actuality, most restrictions I have put on myself. No alcohol except with my family. Always home before ten o'clock. Never go anywhere at night without telling multiple people where. Don't break agreements of where and when to meet. They're precautions, restraints I gave myself to give me the allusion of control. A saftey-net.

I think I'm finally ready to relax those constraints. It's been four years. I'm older, wiser, stronger. I now know not to accept drinks from other people, to never put my cup down, to give specific times that I'll be home, to leave when the people I know and will care if I disappear do. Lessons I learnt the hard way and am punished for everyday. It's been four years. I'm an adult. I've lost my rose-tinted glasses, I can protect myself and I'm not scared anymore. I haven't been for some time now. The problem is convincing my parents and my siblings of this. The 'technically I'm an adult' argument should work. It's with dull surprise that I realise Anariel is moving over to the Reaping bowls. I take deep breath and close my eyes calmly. There are seventy-two pieces of paper in there with my name on them. There's twelve with Laurel's.

I don't waste time praying. Nothing I can do will change what paper the Capitol woman pulls out. Instead I remind myself my name has been in that damn bowl for six years and hasn't been pulled out. The name Aspen has been in there for fifteen consecutive reapings. Hundreds of slips of paper, starting with my eldest sister Laina when she was twelve, through Glen and Tillia and Fletcher. They escaped the Reapings untouched. After today, so will I and in four more years, Rob and Laurel will be free too. Twenty consecutive years with over a hundred slips bearing our family name doesn't seem like good odds to me, but I don't really think about that. I watch with detachment as Anariel reaches into the bowl and grabs a name. She doesn't pause dramatically, but crosses back to the microphone, fumbling to unfold the paper for a moment.

 _It won't be me. There's hundreds of thousands of pieces of paper in that bowl. It won't be Laurel either. It just won't be._

"The f-female tribute is, R-rosilda Aspen."

And just like that, my self-assured certainty slaps me across the face.


	2. Chapter 2

*** Chapter Two ***

I suck in a long deep breath. All over the square people begin to whisper, but no eyes turn to stare directly at me. The people around me are strangers. They don't know who I am. I'm smart enough to realise the cameras use the people around the tribute's reactions to find the person. I'm also smart enough to know that I won't be able to escape my fate. I take a moment to smooth my dress. To lift my chin and squash down my panic, fear and incomprehension. My mind is clear. I know what I have to do.I'm right on the edge of the holding area anyway, I don't have to push through people to get to the aisle. Instead I duck under the rope and straighten my back. Cold, unamused boredom masks my face. I know how I look because it's the mask I wear everyday. I walk forward silently. Confidently.

My gaze fixes on the stage, though I'm checking the screens with the corner of my eye. I'm reaching the fifteen year old section before the camera locks onto me. The murmurs had begun the moment my name was called grow louder with every step I take, because my name does mean something to a lot of the people in this square. They've spoken it in hushed whispers. Pityingly or in disgust. They've looked down their noses at me, scorned me. Called me a filthy liar. I wonder how many of them are even more relieved than normal. "Not only is it someone that's not me, or my family or friends, it's someone who deserves it."

A shudder runs through my body. _Don't think like that._

I turn my head to look at the fourteen year old section as I pass. It's impossible to see Laurel and I'm half glad I can't hear her reaction either. I do hear one of the girls in the front's poorly whispered comment to her friend though. She hasn't realised I'm about to walk right passed them. Her face is twisted with disgust and I recognise her. She goes to the same school as me.

"You know? Rosie Aspen? Remember, the drama with Wren Barclay?"

Her friend - equally as clueless to my presence - suddenly gasps in realisation, her eyes widening and her mouth twisting with scorn.

The first girl nods superiorly and mouths a word that four years ago would have my eyes filling with tears, three years ago, my throat burning with vomit, two years ago my fists curling in anger and a year ago furious words pouring from my mouth. Now it makes my strides slow. My eyes narrow and my jaw clenches.

"Bite me," I hiss venomously as I pass.

I don't turn back to see their expressions, but just imagining their shocked, insulted faces makes my lips curl up in a smirk. I climb the stairs to the stage in the same way that I approached them. Purposefully, with cool detachment. I can't do anything other than keep acting. To falter now would be to break apart. I have to be the Rosilda the rest of the district sees. The poisonous icy bitch. If I let that shell break down, it'll sink in that I'm-

No.

I take Anariel's offered hand and shake it firmly, allowing her to draw me over to the microphone, "How old are you Rosilda?" she asks, her voice shaking almost as badly as the hand she offered me.

"Eighteen."

She seems slightly shocked by how steady my voice is and gives my shoulder a tentative pat, "Let's get you a district partner then, Rosilda," she says, going for a light-hearted tone.

She steps away from the microphone and touches my shoulder again as she passes to get to the other bowl.

I'm not expecting this touch and I stiffen rigidly, almost flinching away from her hand. I grit my teeth and consciously unclench my hands from the fists they are making behind my back. I don't want to look out at the sea of people. I don't want to see them whispering behind their hands, staring back at me or looking sympathetic. I certainly don't want to see satisfaction, or my brother or sister crying.

Instead I fix my gaze on the trees in the distance. Above the roofs of houses and shops, never far away, is the forest. The deep green hue of vibrant life. It's high up off the ground, hanging from a lead rope with an axe in my hand that I feel the most safe. Of course, it's a job, so it's not exactly the most fun part of climbing trees. It's curling up against the trunk, gazing out at the sunrise, or up at the stars. It's finding a comfortable bough to rest, to eat lunch or do my homework. It's sneaking up on my brothers from above, raiding bird's nests, shaking down needles onto my sisters' heads. That's the best part of the forest. Walking beneath the canopy, collecting berries and mushrooms and pinecones. Swimming in the river, or dragging the old tyres from the tractors up the bank and riding the rapids down. Those are the parts of life in Seven that are worth treasuring. The parts that are being taken away from me.

I'm vaguely aware that the boy's name has been called, but it's not until Anariel touches my shoulder again that I realise I'm supposed to be shaking his hand. I frown and turn to my counterpart. I'm expecting someone younger than me, a stranger. I feel my gaze harden as I instead have to tilt my chin up.

The boy's name is Linden. He's in my year at school and lives in the same area as me, though in one of the other villages. He's the son of the butcher and is tall and lean. Well fed with muscled arms, flopping brown hair and sad hazel eyes. He's a head taller than me and would be intimidating if it wasn't for the stricken look on his pale face and my knowledge of his personality. The fact the Butcher's son is unable to kill an animal is perhaps the poorest kept secret in our area of the district.

I shake his hand firmly, while wishing I didn't have to.

See, Linden is a decent bloke. He's a good person. Well liked, passably attractive, smart. The sort of person that's supposed to lead a regular, good, average sort of life. He's not the sort of person supposed to be reaped for the Hunger Games. This makes me angry for many reasons. First of all, the fact that one of the few actual good, nice people in the world getting a death sentence is not okay, because they're practically an endangered species. Second, I can't kill someone I've known my whole life and accept almost to the point of liking. Third, Linden's got the everyman thing going for him that'll definitely score him some sponsors if he plays his cards right. Fourth, his proficiency with knives, upper body strength and his likeable nature make him a threat. And fifth, I'm angry because I'm already thinking not like me. I'm already sizing him up. I'm already letting the Capitol affect me.

I don't want that to happen. I don't want to let them win. And allowing them to change me is letting them win. On the other hand however, winning is what I intend to do. There is no part of me that is accepting my own death. No part that wants to curl into a ball and give up. I've gotten passed way too much. I've survived far too much to let the bloody Capitol kill me off for their enjoyment. I've held myself together and come out alive and functioning before. The Hunger Games can't be worse than what I've already overcome. They might be more deadly, but they can't possibly bring me as close to breaking point as I've already managed to come back from. I intend to win. I do not intend to let the Capitol change me in doing so. I've already allowed myself to be moulded by one traumatic, life-altering and destroying event. I intend to survive another, completely and wholly intact. Another four years putting myself back together would severely dampen my 'I'm an adult, I'm ready to actually live my life' mantra.

"District Seven, your tributes for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games! Rosilda Aspen and Linden Fawley!"

Beside me Linden releases a small choked sound that seems to be somewhere between a laugh and a sob. I wonder what he's thinking about that's so grimly funny, but when I glance at him, his expression is so wretched I have to look away and firmly set my chin. I'm not going to break down in front of the whole district, in front of the whole country.

I hold my head high as Anariel tentatively places a hand on each of our backs, guiding us towards the Justice Building. The only moment I deviate from looking straight towards the door is when the mayor suddenly lurches forward. His face has gone ashen white and he's staring at me like I'm a ghost.

Has he really just only realised who I am? Have I changed so much? Or is it more that I'm not even worth remembering? It's a mark of how far I've come that anger is the only emotion I feel. Pure hatred even.

His mouth forms the words, but no sound comes out and I'm grateful for a long moment that the mayor's son definitely takes after his mother in appearance, "Rosie Aspen."

I'm tempted to stop. To dig my feet into the ground and accuse him in front of the entire district, in front of the Capitol, in front of the whole country. I'm tempted to pull my fist back and slam it into his face. I'm tempted to confirm my identity and sarcastically demand if he's recognise me better if I was covered in blood and other unmentionables, half dead and wrapped in a grimy blanket. I don't do any of this, I meet his eye defiantly for only a moment before he looks away, clearing his throat and heading for the microphone as if that was what he intended all along. I return my attention to our entrance to the Justice Building with a small noise of contempt.

I'm slightly amused by the Peacekeepers that shadow our movements, where are we expected to run? I don't look at Linden as I'm shown to the room where I can say goodbye to my loved ones. I don't speak, I just nod once to the Peacekeeper that holds the door open and go straight for the window. The door shuts firmly behind me and feeling my chest tightening I fumble desperately with the shutter. It won't open and a closer inspection shows it's bolted shut. Figures.

I scowl and aim a kick at the wall to release my pent up stress. The room is too small and I feel like the walls are closing in on me, suffocatingly. The need to get out, to get out into the open air, is so great that I'm halfway to the door before I get a grip on myself.

 _Suck it up, Rose. Deep breaths._

I freeze in the middle of the room and close my eyes. I concentrate on my breathing and nothing else. In… and out. In….and out. It's relaxing, repetitive and calming. Slowly the knot of tension in my test, the ache in my stomach and the lump in my throat numb. It becomes easier to hold onto my composure. Something oddly like acceptance is flowing through my body, relaxing it with each exhale. I'm going into the Hunger Games. It's not fair. It sucks. I want to yell and scream, but that won't change anything. The only way to tell the Capitol to stick it up theirs is to win. To win I have to stay cool, calm and collected. To win, I have to kill people.

In my relaxed state, this is a simple fact and I don't dwell on it. I know I have the physical abilities to kill someone. I've spent the last four years learning how to defend and protect myself. I know exactly how to hurt, disarm, escape and… kill. The question is, am I mentally able to do it?

I hear the pound of running footsteps several moments before the door is opened. I'm surprised to see Laurel and Rob alone, until I realise how long it'll take the rest of my family to get through the crowd to the Justice Building. Robin leads Laurel in firmly, his face is set with determination, flushed even as his twin's is pale and tear stained. Seeing me, the determination fades and his expression slowly crumples. It's as if it's only just hitting him. He's been so focused on getting himself and Laurel here that he's only just registering what they've come to do. He looks like he's been slapped across the face and not a single word has been said.

"Come here," I whisper, my voice slightly strangled, holding my arms open.

A choked sob comes from his mouth and he flings his arms around me, even as Laurel silently attaches herself to my other arm. She's clinging so tightly I'm sure there'll be bruises. Both of them hug me with all they have, it's as if they're five years old again and believe the tighter you hug someone the more you love them.

"It's going to be okay," I promise, somewhat awkwardly hugging them both back.

"Don't go."

Laurel's voice is so small and muffled it's almost impossible for me to hear.

"Please don't go. Don't. Please Rose!"

"I won't go forever," the words come out quickly, anything to reassure her. My hold on my own composure is slipping and the lump is back in my throat, "I won't. I swear I'll come back."

"You promise?" this is clearer because she lifts her head from my shoulder to peer up at me with bloodshot hazel eyes.

"I promise I'll do everything in my power to come back," I say firmly.

"You have to," Rob mumbles, his voice breaking, "You have to come back."

I swallow thickly, "I love you. I love you both so much. And I'm so proud of you. You're both becoming amazing people. You're going to grow up to do incredible things, both of you. And I -" I stop to take a deep breath, "That's something worth seeing."

Laurel manages a watery smile in return to the small one I give her, but Robin just looks at me with big, sorrowful eyes, "Please come home Rose."

I can only swallow again, too choked to say anything, I nod vigorously and hug him tightly, smoothing his hair and trying to memorise the hug. It's been a while since he's hugged me. Then it's Laurel's turn and I squeeze her a tight as I can, then loosen the hold. Inhaling in the lavender scent she's started rinsing her hair with.

"We love you," she murmurs in my ear.

"Yeah," Rob agrees, his voice squeaky, he clears his throat, "Lots," he adds.

I'm about to respond. Tease him a bit to try and cheer them up, when the door opens and a Peacekeeper sticks his head in, "That's time. There's other people waiting."

"Rob? Laurel?" It's Tillia's voice, but it's Fletcher that peers over the man's shoulder.

"It's them Til," my brother confirms, sounding relieved, "I told you they'd come straight here."

He turns his attention to me and gives me a small, forced smile. I can't reply in kind, so I give Laurel a last squeeze and touch a hand to Rob's shoulder, meeting his gaze and holding it, "How about you two wait outside for Mum and Dad?"

They nod slowly and both come in for another hug, before hesitantly making their way out the door. Laurel's got tears pouring down her face when she turns to look back at me, but she still manages to sound imperious as she says, "I'll never forgive you if you break your promise, Rose."

I inhale sharply and nod. She breaks down completely then and Robin has to wrap an arm around her, drawing her into him as great shuddering sobs wrack her body. I want to move to comfort her, but Robin pushes both Tillia and Fletcher into the room and the Peacekeeper shuts the door with an irritated sigh.

Fletcher is on me at once, pulling me into a hug that is as strong, warm and familiar as my bed. He's only a year older than me, my best friend. Tall and broad shouldered, he wraps me in his arms, shielding me from the world and pressing me to his chest. It's the sort of hug he gives me when he's trying to hold me together and it's very appropriate. I revel in the comfort of it, in the security, but eventually I pull back. He still doesn't let go.

"I'm okay," I say, repeating it again and pulling lightly against his arms.

He gets the message and lets go, holding me at arms length and inspecting my face carefully. It's rare to see my care-free, goofy older brother so serious and I meet his gaze evenly. Waiting until he nods silently, swallows and then releases me to Tillia. She hugs me too and I can see that she's trying to hold back tears.

"Mum and Dad are coming," she tells me, "And we saw Laina and Willow on the way here. They'll be here soon."

There's meaning in what she doesn't say and I eye her uncertainly,

"Is Mum…?"

"Dad's helping."

"And Willow?"

"The noise," Fletcher muttered, clearing his throat, "She doesn't like loud noises."

We exchange a black look, together blaming the mayor we hate so much for this - though in reality he probably had no control over the volume of the speakers. Tillia lifts a quavering hand to her mouth, then slowly lowers it again, her chin set determinedly. When she speaks her voice is more choked than before, but still steady.

"Listen, Rose. You can fight. You've trained-"

"Not to kill people," I mutter, thinking there's a big difference between being taught self defence and actually killing someone.

"You can do it," Fletcher's voice is firm, "I know you Rosilda. I know you better that anyone else and I know you can win this."

The fact it relieves me rather than insults me that he thinks I can kill, makes me feel sick. I'm relieved my brother thinks I'm capable of murder. There's proof right there that I've already allowed one traumatic experience to change my life.

I meet his imploring eyes and nod once, then turn to my older sister with a slight smile, "Maybe you should get a spare bridesmaid, just in case Til. I don't want anything to ruin your wedding…"

I've been told many times that I'm the odd-one-out amongst of my siblings. I do look different to all of my sisters, but Fletcher shares my dark hair and Robin my blue eyes. I wrinkle my nose when I laugh, just like Glen. Laina and I fight the same battle with our curls, though she keeps hers short and manageable. In personality though, it's true. Laina and Fletcher especially, were always the popular ones in school. Enthusiastic and easy-going they drew people to them easily. Glen had the quiet confidence, wry humour and intelligence that always made people listen and Tillia was everybody's problem-solver. Laurel was going in the exact same direction as them. Optimistic, bubbly and friendly, she was liked by everyone. And Rob… well, Robin had always been content to let Laurel drag him around. He was friends with everyone too, though I suspected he sometimes got tired of it. Like me, he could entertain himself, he didn't get bored the very second he was alone. He enjoyed his own company. It's rare to see my elder siblings without a smile. For the most part they're happy and easy-going. Robin and I were always the short-tempered, stubborn ones. Fletcher can be a right bad-tempered sod at times and Laina knows how to hold her own in an argument, but Tillia has always been the worst at confrontation. Even Laurel, who's almost obsessed with having people like her, is better at it than her. Tillia is just too nice. She hates seeing other people upset, is the ultimate pacifist and peacemaker.

In this moment however, the likeness between us must be terrifying. I've never seen her glare so hard before, certainly never at me. It furrows her pale brows, giving them shadow and shape that, when accompanied with the sudden angry set of her chin, makes it clear we're sisters. She plants her hands on her hips and steps forward, though being a few inches shorter than me, this shouldn't make her more intimidating. It's the out of character display of aggression that makes my eyes widen.

"You're coming to my wedding Rosilda," her voice is low and firm, shaking with anger, "you're going to be there. You are! You're strong. Stronger than all of them!"

"The strongest of all of us," Fletcher agrees solemnly, the low volume and sad tone conveying his meaning, "you can win, Rose."

I can feel my chin quavering as I desperately try to stop the burning lump in my throat from making tears fall. Strong? If only I was actually as strong as I pretended to be, maybe then I'd have a real fighting chance.

"It's all about survival," Fletcher carries on grimly, reaching out to take my hands in his and gazing at me steadily, "You've already proven you're a survivor. You've done it once, you can do it again."

I just shake my head. The situations are entirely different and he knows it.

"He's right," Tillia says in the same firm, angry tone, "You've already survived more than all the other tributes. If you can come back from…" a shudder runs through both our bodies simultaneously and Fletcher's grip on my hand tightens to the point where it's painful, "you can survive this."

I swallow thickly and nod, because it seems to be the only thing I can do. There's a loud rapping on the door, and the Peacekeeper sticks his head in again, "Wrap it up! There's still more!"

He's more insistent this time and my hug with my two elder siblings is frantic and combined. We don't waste times sharing 'I love yous'. They know I love them. I know they love me. The next people in the door are my eldest brother and his pregnant wife. Glen married Felicity almost four years ago and they've been trying for a baby for nearly as long. They'd lost three in the first four months and almost given up hope when Felicity realised she was pregnant again. She was so scared of losing another that she didn't even tell Glen until the end of the first trimester. The rest of us found out a month later. Now, at almost eight months, all of us - my pessimistic self included - are beginning to get very excited about the prospect of a baby.

I'm expecting my sister-in-law to be a mess and I'm not surprised by her dishevelled appearance. The last time I saw her she cried because there was no milk to go in my Mother's tea. The mood swings are so bad Fetcher regularly jokes Glen won't live to see his kid be born. They hug me tightly and tell me they love me. Felicity is so worked up she can only cry and Glen just looks shocked. It's a horrible way to say goodbye and I'm almost glad when the knock comes on the door again. Glen unfreezes and guides his wife to the door. Just when I think he's going to follow her out he stops and looks back at me.

"Don't you dare give up."

Before I can do more than open my mouth, he's being pushed away by the Peacekeeper. The door shuts and I'm alone again. Anxiety makes it impossible for me to sit still and I'm pacing the room when my eldest sister finally arrives. A word on Laina and Willow. My sister lost her husband in a logging accident only two months after their daughter was born and though she's only twenty seven, utterly gorgeous and very feminine, she's never even entertained the thought of remarrying. Laina's the reason I believe in love. Not that my parents don't love each other - they do. But they have a quiet sort of love, small gestures that are lost amidst the chaos of everyday life. My sister had a fairytale. Unfortunately, she had her happy ending snatched right out from underneath her. Luckily, everyone needs clothes and with Mother and Laina being the only tailors in a five mile radius, there's plenty of work and she can support herself and Willow.

My beloved niece shares the same hazel eyes as her mother and most of my family and I'm pleased to see that they're free of tears. Willow's much too young to understand the Reaping and she runs to me with an excited squeal. I'll be the first person to admit it's extremely odd my four year old niece likes me the best. But it's the truth.

Perhaps over Rob and Glen, but not over open and warm Tillia, playful and ridiculous Fletcher and happy, bubbly Laurel. I force a smile to my face as I crouch to meet the little red-head. It's not hard, Willow has a way of making people happy. She inherited that from Laina.

"Mummy says we're going to your house for dinner," she says, blinking innocently up at me, "Is that true Auntie Rose?"

Behind her daughter's back, Laina's face crumples and she has to lift a shaking hand to her mouth to muffle a sob. A similar lump appears abruptly in my own throat and I have to blink back tears, "It is true! You're going to see all your Aunts and Uncles and Grandma and Grandpa too."

"Yay!" she claps her hands excitedly, then suddenly becomes serious again, "Can I whisper something to you so Mummy won't hear?"

I meet Laina's eye over her head and nod, "Of course, what is it Sweetie?"

She cups her hand around my ear and whispers loudly, "Can you help me pick flowers for Mummy? She's sad and I don't like it when she's sad."

I'm desperately trying to hold back tears as I straighten up and reach down to hoist the little girl up onto my hip. I don't look at Laina, instead I concentrate on the eager anticipation in Willow's eyes, "That's such a nice idea Willow, it's very sweet. I'd love to help you Sweetie, but Auntie Rose has to go away for a while-"

"Why?"

I promised myself a long time ago that I would never lie to Willow. I'd try to answer all her questions as best I could. It was a promise I was having a hard time keeping lately due to the sheer number of 'why's that had started coming out of her mouth,

"Because the Capitol have asked me to," I explain carefully, "But I'm sure if you ask Auntie Laurel and Uncle Rob, they'll take you to pick some beautiful flowers."

She pouts at me, her chin wobbling slightly, "But I want you to take me."

"I know Sweetie," I say, bouncing her slightly, "But I'm leaving soon. I'm so sorry."

"But I don't want you to leave!" despite my best efforts, Willow is picking up on the pain in my voice. She is by no means a spoilt child and the fact that she's dangerously close to tears tells me she definitely understands something's up.

"I'll always be thinking of you Willow," I promise, smiling at her determinedly, "Even if you can't see me, I'll be there with you. I love you Little Girl."

"I love you too," she replies automatically, wrapping her skinny arms around my neck.

"Will you look after your Mummy for me while I'm gone?" I ask her gently, "Be a good girl and try and cheer her up? Do you think you can do that for me?"

She nods solemnly and I hug her tightly again,"Thank you Willow."

I set her down on the ground and step forward to hug Laina. We don't speak, but the hug is tight and lingering and I can feel dampness on my neck from where her face rests. It's a hug that conveys everything that needs to be said and gives me a moment to compose myself once more. When she releases me, Laina bends down to pick Willow up.

"Say, see you soon Auntie Rose'," my eldest sister commands quietly.

"See you soon Auntie Rose," Willow obeys in a sing-song voice, but she frowns lightly, "Why the Capitol want you Auntie Rose?"

"I don't know Willow," I say sadly, looking to Laina for help.

"They want her for the same reason you want her Honey," Laina says in her 'mum' voice, "They know exactly how brilliant Auntie Rose is. They're going to love her, just like we do and they'll bring her back to us soon. Safe and sound. Uncle Fletcher's friend Johanna is going to take good care of her."

There's a message and advice in Laina's words and I nod firmly to show I've understood, though I don't verbally confirm Laina's statement. I promised not to lie to Willow and I don't break my promises.

"I'll miss you Auntie Rose," Willow pouts.

"I'll miss you too Willow."

"Wave goodbye," Laina says, waving her own hand and ignoring the fact that her chin is quivering as she meets my eye steadily.

I wave enthusiastically to my niece, who watches me with big hazel eyes until the door closes behind them. My hands then lift to my head and I press the palms of my hands into my temples. I've never stopped to consider how hard these goodbyes are and I'm almost relieved as I think on the fact my parents will be the last to visit me. I don't have any friends, so who else would bother?

My mother has always been a little different to others. For one thing, her hate for Reaping Day and her fear of the Hunger Games isn't isolated to the day, but carries over into her whole life. For another, she takes everything very seriously and in complete contrast to most of her children, is quiet and rare with her smiles. It got a lot worse after what happened to me, but even before she was always a little …. sensitive.

My father too, is reasonably quiet, but it's him that's the easy-going, warm and compassionate one. Mum loves us very much, it's worry that makes her so serious, but Dad's always been the one that readily displays affection, laughing and smiling, cracking jokes and doing his best to keep all of us safe and happy. He's Glen's quiet strength, Fletcher's ability to make people smile and Rob's protectiveness all at once, with Laina's warmth, Tillia's dependability and Laurel's passion for life all thrown in together.

Their words when they come to take their own turn at saying goodbye are expected in content and delivery. My Dad quietly speaks, while my mother clutches at my hand, tears rolling silently down her face. He tells me how proud they are, reminds me how much they love me and firmly expresses their confidence in my abilities. Then they both hug me and it's my turn to speak.

"Thank you," I whisper, clear my throat and try again, "Thank you for always being there for me. I just want you know that nothing has and nothing ever will be your fault. Don't blame yourselves for anything that's happened to me or that might happen. I love you and I want nothing more for you and and the others to be happy."

They hug me again and Dad's crying now too. It makes the lump appear in my throat again and I have to grit my teeth and blink determinedly so as not to cry.

"You're coming back," Mum's voice breaks and croaks, but the intensity with which she stares at me and grips my hand conveys the certainty in her words, "I'm not losing you too."

Because Mum's already lost the person closest to her. At the age of seventeen my Mum's twin sister was reaped for the Games and she didn't come back. That's why Mum's the way she is. That's why she hates and fears the reaping more than the average person. They took her best friend, her sister, her other half.

"I'll do my best," I promise firmly.

"We love you so much Rosilda," Dad says gruffly, "No matter what happens, you'll always be our daughter and we'll always love you. So you do whatever you've got to. Understand me? You do whatever it takes it get home."

I understand exactly what he means and I think if one thing sticks with me, it will be those words. Reinforced by my Mother's frantic nodding and their grips on my hands, I can see the certainty in their faces. They'll love me no matter what atrocious deeds I commit in the arena. A surge of gratitude and love floods through me and I squeeze their hands back, "Thank you," I breathe, "Thank you."

Because now that it's been said, now that my family have made me promise to do everything I can to come home, have given me their blessings and have told me in no uncertain terms that I've got to come back, I've got purpose. The knowledge that they'll love me no matter what happens will make it so much easier. So much easier to stay strong, to stay hopeful and to kill. They've given me another reason to live and to do everything to ensure I'm the one that leaves the arena.

They've made it so much easier for me to do what it takes to win and for that I'll never be able to thank them enough.


	3. Chapter 3

*** Chapter Three ***

"So this is the infamous Rosilda Aspen."

They're the first words she speaks to me as she strides into the compartment almost an hour after the train started moving. There's a mocking glint in her eye and a smirk on her face that is echoed in her deadpan words. She's testing me right from the start and I can't say I'm surprised. I lift my chin and meet her eye defiantly, Johanna Mason doesn't scare me.

"Well, you are pretty," she notes with a small snort, "and look at that-" she waves her hand boldly towards my chest, "you'll have sponsors lining up with a rack like that. I can see why he liked you."

Linden shifts uncomfortably on the couch, but I only lift an eyebrow challengingly, "So that's your plan? Dress me like a prostitute and use my body to get me sponsors? Must say I expected more from the great Johanna Mason," I allow my voice to take on its own mocking tone, but I eye her steadily.

I don't want her to misunderstand me to be arrogant. I am confident however, that if anyone can see passed my exterior, it'll be the girl that tricked almost an entire country into forgetting she existed.

Johanna's smirk widens, but there's a small amount of approval in he eye as she looks me over again, "of course sponsors don't count for shit if you can't back up that confidence, Aspen. Stand up!" she commands.

I do so, holding my head high and watching as she scrutinises me. It surprises me to realise she's shorter than me. I'm only just above average myself and she's noticeably smaller than me in every way. It reinforces my firm belief that appearances can be deceiving.

"Let me guess," she drawls, "amateur hand-to-hand combat training for the last four years. Which will be more useful than you'd originally think because you had a whole lot of incentive in learning to defend yourself. With brothers like yours, you'll be good with an axe, but not strong enough to be truly deadly at close range. You're too heavy for speed to be more than a secondary asset, but you're small enough to be agile. As for killer instinct…"

She studies me long and hard, then her lips twist up in a mocking smile, "it's definitely there, but then that raises the question as to why the mayor's son is still alive?"

"I'd have to pay with nine lives," I say quietly, "His isn't worth even one of them."

"Not even your own?"

My jaw tightens and my fists clench behind my back, "his life is worth less than a tree in Seven's."

"As someone who attended twelve years of school with the bastard, I agree whole heartedly," Johanna surprises me by saying. She collapses into the couch next to Linden, completely ignoring the fact he shifts slightly away from her, "so Rosilda Aspen does have thorns. I see some of the rumours were true. That's good. I can't stand people with no backbone."

She sighs heavily and glances at the clock on the wall, "where's that damn escort got to now? She was supposed to be getting Hillier and I twenty minutes ago!"

I just shrug and Linden mumbles something about organising lunch. This attracts Johanna's attention to him for the first time and she eyes him with exactly the same calculating scrutiny she gave me. When she speaks though her voice noticeably lacks any mocking contempt, "How about you? Linden Fawley? Got any weapons skills or a killer instinct?"

It makes me uncomfortable to see that Linden flushes and shakes his head. I know from the stilted conversation he tried to start with me that he's exceptionally nervous and disheartened. I can't say I blame him. The bloke's got the killer instinct of a caterpillar. I loathe the fact he's wallowing in self-pity and weakness. He seems to have already given up and it disgusts me. He's not going to win the Games, but with the right attitude he could make it passed the bloodbath at least. On the other hand it also makes me seriously question the society we live in. How messed up does a world have to be for a seventeen year old boy to be embarrassed that he's got no desire to murder someone?

"Come on Butcher-Boy," I mutter with a scowl at him, "You've got weapons skills."

He glances at me, confusion clear in his eyes, though I'm not sure if he's confused by my irritation or by the fact I'm helping him, "knives," he says with a small cough, "I can use knives."

Johanna looks him up and down and I can tell by her expression that she's seeing the strength in his arms and the advantages in his tall, lean frame. Then she looks intently at his face and I see the same conclusion form in her eyes. He's too pleasant to look at. His face is an open-book, worry clear in his eyes and brow, there's no confidence, no determination - not even faked. I see at that moment that she writes him off and it makes me sad despite myself.

"This year we will be training you tributes separately," she informs us bluntly, "Hillier will be your mentor Butcher-Boy and I'll be yours Thorns. If you have any complaints, I don't care. We're going to be hard on you, we're here to do one thing and one thing only. We aren't your friends, but we are your only hope. It's our job to do our very best to make sure one of you survives and from right now you will listen to every damn word we say. Understood?"

Linden and I both nod silently. His eyes have widened with shock and apprehension, but I'm having trouble keeping the smirk off my lips. Like I said, Johanna Mason is my sort of person. She might have written Linden off, but she's still giving him a shot. By training us separately she's making sure Linden will still have the undivided attention of a mentor. I'm selfishly glad that she's picked me, but I'm also practical enough to understand that Linden probably needs the wiser, experienced Hillier more than I do. Johanna's not one to coddle. She'd be driven insane by Linden within the day.

We get shepherded along to lunch after that and it's a complete sensory overload. As someone who is naturally curious and observant, I want to see and understand everything, but I don't see how I am supposed to remember even half of the things in front of me. First of all, the food is ridiculous. There's enough of it to feed my entire family three large meals each and it's obscene that so much food is wasted on five people for one meal. I can only stare at Anariel as she timidly assures us dinner will be a much grander affair. She's clearly misunderstanding mine and Linden's silence. I can only try to keep my frown in check, as Linden hurries to assure her it's amazing and we're both wonder-struck.

"I don't think I've ever seen so much food in one place," he finishes, smiling sheepishly, as if this is some sort of embarrassing confession as opposed to harsh reality.

My moodiness vanishes as fast as it came as my eyes lock on something, "Is that…?" I reach over to snatch up one of the small, shiny brown circles and inspect it.

"Chocolate," our escort says with a nervous smile, "Do you like chocolate?"

I don't admit I've only ever tried it once and can barely remember the taste, I just nod and with self restraint I didn't know I possessed, I place it carefully on the edge of my plate. Johanna lifts an eyebrow and smirks, reaching to dish herself up what looks like beef stew. Hillier gives me a faint smile and loudly tells me he'll make sure there's a chocolate option with every dessert. Linden's too busy loading thick, juicy pieces of meat to his plate to notice, but Anariel looks slightly disappointed,

"Aren't you going to eat it?" she asks, then blushing and stuttering she apologies for her rudeness.

"If that's being your idea of being rude I can see why they denied your request to mentor Two!" Johanna snickers, giving the Capitol woman a mocking smile, "Animals the lot of them! They'd eat you alive and probably enjoy it! You wouldn't last an hour Loveless"

Anariel frowns and drops her head, her shoulders tensing defensively. Her long fringe hangs forward and completely obscures her face, but it's easy to see she's upset.

"I'm saving it," I explain abruptly, "For last. The things you have to wait for are always the best."

Johanna rolls her eyes, but Anariel peeks out at me. Like this, it's all to clear she's only a couple of years older than me. I can't help but wonder at the wisdom of having her escort Seven. Surely a victor like Finnick Odair from Four or perhaps the victors from Eight or Eleven would be better suited to this shy, sensitive woman than the insulting, mocking and prickly Johanna Mason? Anariel doesn't say anything, but I notice she pushes a jam tart to the side of her plate and doesn't touch it until the rest of her plate is clear.  
While my tastebuds are being overwhelmed by the variety of flavours and tastes in the food, just as my nostrils are being assaulted by the foreign scents wafting from the dishes, my mind is busy processing the information Johanna and Hiller start unloading on us. Linden's eyes glaze over quickly and he assumes a permanently stricken expression when his plate is empty and he can't distract himself with food. Hillier constantly speaks at a loud volume that leads me to believe he may be a little deaf, something that's confirmed when he barks at Anariel to speak up because he "can't hear a damn thing!". It's unfortunate, because it's the first thing she's said since Johanna mocked her and it sends her back into self imposed silence once more.  
The information given to us is enough to overload my brain, but because I'm trying to process all the things that aren't being said too, I very quickly feel like I'm drowning. They give us the schedule for the next week, loaded with instructions and names of people I don't know. After it occurs to me I could be hearing the plans for the last week of my life it becomes even harder to concentrate and I find myself focusing more on the ring I've worn on my finger for years than anything else. It'll be my token, I suppose. I don't have anything else, my family didn't think to give me something.

There's no real sob story or meaningful family history behind the ring. It's a silver band, not too thick, and very unassuming at first glance. However, if that had been the case I would have pawned it off as soon as possible, no matter the circumstances in which I found it. It is not however the case, because engraved on the outside of the band are three words.

I found the ring at the age of twelve. I hadn't been twelve for very long. Just over a week to be precise, but never the less, I was twelve. My age is important. As is the fact I had been twelve for just over a week. Because, every year, two weeks after my birthday, comes the reaping. At twelve years and thirteen days old, my name was entering the reaping balls for the first time. Except, it wasn't just entering it once. It was entering it ten times. Nine for every member of my family and myself and once more for my first year of being eligible for the Hunger Games.

I didn't find the ring on Reaping Day. I didn't even find it when I was tragically wandering the district wallowing in fear and self-pity. I found the ring completely by chance. It was a hot day and Fletcher had convinced me that it would be fun to walk home from school via the river. Not that it took much convincing. He'd been laughing at me for picking flowers for Mother - because that's what thirteen year old brothers do - and I'd gotten annoyed and shoved him. He'd shoved me back and sent me stumbling backwards into the river. Being the vindictive little sister I was, I immediately dived straight down to the bottom, intending to hold my breath for as long as possibly before coming up. It was supposed to worry him, make him feel guilty for getting me and my clothes all wet. It was purely by chance that I glimpsed a sparkle on the slimy, mucky floor and shoved my hand into the sludge to grab what I thought would just be a rock. You can imagine my surprise when I broke the surface and discovered I'd found treasure. Fletcher thought it was cool for about two seconds before he teased me enough that I shoved the ring into my pocket and forgot all about it.  
When I rediscovered it, the night before my first Reaping, I cleaned it up and decided it was cool and fancy enough for me to wear. The main reason for keeping the ring however, were the words. I had no idea what they meant and I desperately wanted to find out. They weren't written in any language I knew, but it became my goal to read it. Glen told me he thought it was written in an ancient language he called Latin, but he wasn't sure what it said. It was Laina who warned me to be careful. I didn't want my curiosity to get me in trouble with the Capitol after all. In the end the ring was discarded in a box on my dresser. Then…. Wren Barclay happened. The mayor's son. I made the biggest mistake of my life. I lost my friends, my reputation and came very close to losing my life. In the months of recovery, both physical and psychological, I latched onto the ring. I needed something to keep me going and part of that became the need to find out what the insignificant words meant. Even before I knew what they meant, it become something of large sentimental value. It became a reminder that I had things to live for.

When I discovered what the words actually meant, I wasn't disappointed either. They were worth the years it took me to find a translation. They were beautiful and a little rebellious and it became my private mantra. Alis volat propriis. Which roughly translates to: She flies with her own wings.

It seemed vastly appropriate that it should be my token. I knew my family loved me. What I needed was a reminder that life was worth living, that I'd fought for my life before and I'd overcome previous hardships. What I also needed to be reminded of was that there was always a choice. She flies with her own wings. She walks her own path. She dances to her own tune. They all meant the same thing, but the first was definitely my favourite way of saying it. Somehow I didn't think the Capitol would appreciate the ring as much as I did.

After lunch Johanna sent me off to my bedroom. She said she had more important things to do and that there wasn't much she could teach me in the few hours before dinner that wouldn't be covered over the next week. I was more grateful than I let show for this. I needed some time alone to come to terms with exactly what was happening.

I'd been Reaped.  
I was going into the Hunger Games.  
I'd just said goodbye to my family for perhaps the last time.  
I was going to have to kill people.  
I could very easily die.

I've always considered myself to be an altruistic, morally righteous person and it bothers me a lot that my survival instincts win out. I don't want to die. I value my life over the other tributes'. I'm prepared to kill innocent children in order to win. Well, no. I'm not prepared to kill innocent children. I am prepared to kill tributes. I'm prepared to kill a tribute who attacks me. I'm prepared to kill a Career. I'm prepared to kill other people like me. The people who realistically have a shot at winning, not because they're big or skilled, but because they have the same selfish determination that they won't die. The Hunger Games isn't all a battle of who can use a weapon the best, whose the smartest, or the strongest. It's a battle for survival. To survive you have to do more than just defend yourself. You have to be able to do more than just block or disarm. Having the ability is not the same as being capable of murder.

I have the abilities to kill… and the more I examine myself, the more I think I also have the capacity.

Oddly enough, it's this that makes the tears finally spill over. Not loud, shuddering sobs, but silent rolling tears that trickle down my face. They aren't tears of fear or self-pity. They're tears of guilt, of self-disgust of anger. I hate that I'm being put in this situation and I hate myself for knowing deep inside me that I will be able to kill another tribute. I wrap my arms around myself tightly and let them fall. There's hours until I have to be ready for dinner. Nobody's going to see me. I can afford to let down the mask.

After dinner we move to the neighbouring compartment which has couches and chairs around a television. It's time to watch the Reaping replay. Hillier has a small brown book and a pen with him and seems to be preparing to take notes, but Johanna just slouches back against the leather couch, a smirk on her face.

"Mostly you can tell who's going to win from the Reapings," she says, with a bite of challenge in her voice, "or at the very least you can pick top five. That is, if you're smarter than the average muscle-head. Think you're up for the challenge Rosilda?" she says my name slowly, mockingly, and then laughs, but I just lift an eyebrow as she continues, "knowing who your greatest opponents are, is after-all, a skill that could keep you alive."

I just nod and turn my full attention to the television screen where the two Capitol presenters are blithering through an introduction. District One comes first. The richest of all the districts and a Career one at that. They annually produce two volunteers that are always amongst the strongest contenders, and have a victor count that is probably only second to District Two. The line of victors that spreads across their stage is testament to this. As I expected, there's two volunteers. Both eighteen years old and oozing confidence. As if this isn't enough, the girl in particular will be guaranteed sponsors. Johanna wolf whistles sardonically as she saunters onto the stage, blonde ringlets and perfect skin completed by a coy smirk.

"I wonder what angle she'll be using in the interviews," my mentor deadpans with a snicker.

The boy is tall and leanly muscled and reasonably good looking too. He pumps his fists in the air and cheers enthusiastically, which immediately makes me dislike him. Nobody should be that excited about volunteering for the Games. At least not any sane person. Their names are Glimmer and Marvel and I do my best to fix these in my memory, though the absurdity of their district names is not lost on me.  
Next up is District Two, another Career district - or perhaps I should say the Career district - I've already realised the tributes from here are worth remembering. There's a moment of surprise when the girl is actually reaped, then Johanna makes a small noise and notes the girl is wearing a black leather cuff on her wrist. She's young, maybe only fifteen or sixteen, but she's still a Career. There's something about her too. Unlike the tributes from One she doesn't play nice for the cameras. Her lips are twisted in a mocking sneer that reminds me of Johanna, her eyes dark and narrowed with cunning intensity and she carries herself as if she expects people to be afraid of her. It's not the blustering arrogance of One, but a much more serious and deadly confidence.  
She immediately goes on my mental list of top five. Clove.  
The boy however is a volunteer, lurching forward with purpose to be the first to get onto the stage. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the screen. He's huge. Not only is he at least four inches above six foot, but muscles bulge from everywhere. It's not even this that makes me gasp however. It's his face. Not only does it seem to be carved of marble, but the intensity of his expression makes me want to shrink away. His eyes are bright and for a single moment it strikes me as sad that it's the prospect of almost certain death that makes them light up. Someone with eyes so bright, shouldn't be in such a hurry to throw their life away. My sadness quickly turns to caution as I consider why he's so clearly unconcerned. He's not pretending at all. He's sure he'll win. A shiver goes down my back and I want to huddle back into the couch in fear. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and carefully scrutinise him. He's too big to be fast, but I'd also guess he's smarter than the average muscle-head as Johanna put it. His name is Cato and he is without a doubt the top of my mental list of who's most likely to win. He looks like he could snap me in half with his bare hands and enjoy it.  
Linden's staring at the television with horrified terror, Hillier with a grimace and Johanna's scowling. She glances over at me and her mouth thins even more as we make eye-contact. We both know he'll be my biggest competition.  
District Three are two small, underfed kids that are reaped. Four has two volunteers, but they don't have the same intensity as the other Careers. District Five is next and I take note of the red-head girl. She's maybe sixteen, with a pale skin, slanted green eyes and a pointed chin, which gives her a very fox-like appearance. It's the fact she moves purposefully to the stage, her head held high and her eyes scanning calculatingly that makes her stand out. She's smart and I won't underestimate her because she's small.  
District Six isn't anything special, but we all sit up a little straighter when it gets to our district. I'm right about the camera having taken a long time to find me. It's the longest pause all day and the camera is jerked sharply away from scanning the twelve year olds to me as I walk down the aisle. I'm pleased to note I look exactly as I wanted. Intimidating and utterly unfazed. The camera doesn't capture what the two girls said, but it does show the sudden fury that crosses my face. I swing around and we clearly hear me snarl 'Bite me'. The two girls shrink away from me and I look like I'm a second away from rolling my eyes as I continue up to the stage.  
I come across as supremely pissed off about the whole ordeal.  
When I get up to the stage, my expression smooths slightly back to bored, but my voice remains polite as I answer Anariel's questions. The camera stays on me for a while and constantly flicks back even as Linden's name is called out. I don't react at all, my eyes are fixed on something in the distance and my expression is completely blank. Almost. I'm not sure if anyone but the people who know me well will be able to see the wistfulness in my eyes. To me it is clear I'm not paying attention at all, but the camera misses Ananriel having to nudge me into shaking hands and the frown I give Linden seems more in response to his jerky and nervous handshake rather than confusion. He practically tears his hand away from me and on-screen me shakes her head slightly. The camera also captures my suddenly murderous gaze once more, but it doesn't reveal who I'm looking at. Though I don't remember doing it at the time, I toss my hair irritably as I swing my head back to the Justice Building.  
Overall, I come across as an arrogant, intimidating bitch with an extremely short temper. Great.

It must show on my face that I'm upset with myself because Johanna frowns at me, "Why the long face Thorns?"

I lift an eyebrow at the repeated use of her nickname, but just shrug, "I did awful. Who's going to want to sponsor me-"

"You did awful?" Linden cuts me off with surprising force, "Crikey what does that make me? At least people will take you seriously Rosilda!"

"He's right," Johanna says plainly, nodding approvingly at my district partner, "You made an impression, that's all that matters at this stage. Both of you should be safe from the Careers instantly marking you as Bloodbath kills. That's usually the best outlying districts can hope for in a Reaping."

"Sponsors don't care about this stuff," Hiller adds with an irritable huff, "No fancy costumes or pretty lights. It's the parade that counts for sponsors, not reapings."

"Everyone watches the parade and the interviews," Anariel agrees quietly, "Most Capitolites only watch the highlights of the reaping."

I'm very tempted to ask what she means by highlights, do they only show the people worth remembering? Only the Careers? However, I've already missed most of District Eight's reaping and I don't want to miss something important. Or rather somebody important. Nobody really sticks in my mind until we get to District Ten. The boy has a bad foot and he needs help to get to the stage. My jaw tightens as I watch, he won't last long. Then District Eleven is up and once again my attention is caught. The girl has to be only twelve she's so tiny, but that could be because she's standing next to another monstrous boy. There's less intensity about him, he seems more straight forwardly physically strong than the boy from Two. Still I take note. Someone like that could snap my neck with ease.

"No use painting you as physically strong and intimidating then," Hillier mutters, scrawling furiously in his notebook.

I can only assume he was talking to Linden.  
District Twelve can only be described as surprising. I was expecting two gaunt faced, dead eyed, 'a good puff of wind could knock them over' sort of tributes. That's normally what Twelve, being the poorest of all the districts puts up. Another twelve year old is reaped. I grimace as her wide blue eyes fill with paralysing fear, knowing that this will be another child walking to certain death. Then, suddenly everything is tipped on end. Volunteers outside of Career districts are rare. A volunteer from a district as far out as Twelve? I think it's unheard of. My mouth goes completely dry when I see the girl that pushes her way through to the twelve year old. From the way the younger girl clings to her and the desperation on the older one's face as she tries to push her behind her, I'd say they're sisters. A closer inspection reveals them to have similar face shape, though their hair and eyes are noticeably different.  
It's not this that makes me draw in a long deep breath though. It's the girl herself. Looking at her, all I can see is a fighter. Her eyes that were so frantic and desperate moments ago, now settle into steely determination. Her mouth presses into a bored sort of grimace, but she's unwavering on the stage. It's not just me who sees it either. Johanna leans forward in her seat, her eyes narrowing and her attention fixed on the television screen. When the entire district refuses to clap and instead performs a gesture that I recognise to be one of farewell for a respected and loved one, I start chewing on the inside of my cheek. It's a disgusting habit I thought I'd broken, but the stress makes me do it unconsciously and by the time I've realised, I'm too busy trying not to show how anxious I am.  
Johanna said you could generally tell who was going to win the Games from the Reaping. I thought it would be the boy from District Two. But, now?

I think I just found the victor…

Almost the moment the reaping is over, Johanna is on her feet. She barely says a word to us before almost running from the compartment. I stare after her for a moment, torn between surprise and annoyance. She's my mentor! Where on earth does she think she's going? "Er…" I say eloquently, looking to Hillier and Anariel for an explanation.

Anariel just looks confused and Hillier doesn't even seem to notice, intent on finishing his notes. I look instead at Linden who shrugs at me. We sit in uncomfortable silence for almost ten minutes as Hillier continues to scribble away. Then with a grunt, he gets to his feet and motions to my district partner, "Come on then Fawley! If we're trying to keep you alive, we've got work to do!"

He doesn't wait for an answer and hobbles with surprising speed back towards the dining room compartment. Linden gets hesitantly to his feet and starts to follow. He's halfway to the door when he stops and looks back at me. I can see he's struggling with whether to invite me along, ask if I'll be alright or maybe just question how he had the bad luck to be stuck with me. I call up a small smile and motion with my head, encouraging him along. Linden closes his mouth and does so, slipping into the next compartment without another backwards glance.  
This leaves me alone with the Capitol escort.  
I consider what I should do for a moment, wondering if I should look for Johanna, go to bed, or stay and talk with Anariel. It occurs to me that I'm not the most likeable person - striking revelation, I know - and I wonder if I should practice talking to strangers or at least try and get some idea of how to make a good impression on Capitol people. Though I don't want to admit it, my decision to stay is mostly just because I don't want to be alone. I had plenty of time to think between lunch and dinner and I wasn't sure I wanted more. I was sick of turning everything over in my head. I'd take a Capitol escort of my own company right now.

 **Thanks for reading, please review and let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

*** Chapter Four ***

"So would you like to hear my top five, or have you completely written me off?" I greet Johanna as I slip into the seat beside her at the breakfast table. I get a very extreme reaction. Johanna swings one arm up to block her face and seizes a bread knife with the other. She has it pointed threateningly at me, with a snarl on her face within a second. I only just manage to get my own arm up to stop the knife from hitting my face before her expression clears and she tosses the knife aside with a snort.

"Don't sneak up on a fucking victor!" she bellows at me, "What game do you think you're playing Aspen?" I just stare at her in incomprehension and slowly lower my defensive arm, my pulse thundering in my ears as I try to get over my shock. "Well?" Johanna demands, her eyes flashing with fury.

"I didn't…" I release a breath and collect my scattered nerves, "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. I just…walked in."

Johanna examines me intently for a moment, "I forgot. You're Fletcher Aspen's sister aren't you."

"Fle- yes, but, I didn't realise you knew each other," I frown in confusion, recalling Laina's words when she said goodbye. I didn't think Johanna and my brother were actually friends. I figured he would have said something or that I would know.

"Is there a girl in our district that doesn't know Fletcher Aspen?" she asks with a sardonic eye-roll, "Of course I know him!"

"Oh," I state lamely, "Well I would apologise, but I've been stuck with him since birth, so you don't have it as bad as me."

"Cut the bullshit, I know that you're the closest to him," Johanna sniffed slightly, "Only girl he actually gives a damn about apparently."

"Please tell me he didn't—"

"The point!" she cut me off with a glare that clearly told me she did not want to discuss what her relationship with Fletcher might have been, "Is that Fletcher Aspen gets away with his crap, because he barely ever gets caught. When I called him out on the fact that someone as chauvinistic as him shouldn't be so good at hiding, he told me that it was a skill that his sister had made him realise was extremely worthwhile when he took the blame for all the antics they pulled, because she always got away. He said that if I was impressed by him, I should meet this sister of his. He said that she could steal the Peacekeeper's coffee from right beside them and they wouldn't catch her. He said that she could break into the mayor's house and borrow books and return them without anyone noticing. He said she could sneak up on anyone, sit for an hour in the same position and that nobody could find her if she didn't want to be found—"

"Did he also tell you she had a bad habit of spying on him? Because I did it once and let him catch me because I thought it'd be funny to tease him about all the times he hadn't caught me, just to see if I could get him to confess any of the secret stuff he always got up to. He blew a gasket, wouldn't talk to me for a week, refused to let me use his axe and told Mum I wanted to learn how to sew and he still hasn't let it go. Even after I told him it was all a scam!"

"He knew his kid sister would kick his arse if she found out how many girls he was meeting with in the forest," Johanna scowls, then shakes herself, "Anyway, it seems as though I've finally found something he said that isn't complete bullshit." She studies me for a long moment, her eyes critically roaming over my body, "Go on then Thorns, give me your top five. You tell me the five people you think are most likely to kill you and I'll decided which ones, if any, you have a shot at beating."

I refuse to let any hesitation show on my face, but her words rattle me. It's odd the way I can think I've wrapped my head around the concept of having to fight to the death. Y _es, I'm going to be trying to kill people, okay then let's get on with it._ Then every time it's brought up, I feel shocked and horrified all over again.

 _Get a grip Rose._

"There's supposedly six Careers in each Games," I begin, "One, Two and Four. Neither from Four make the top five and One gets bumped by outlying districts. The girl from Five with the red hair, Brinna, is my bet on who makes fifth place," I say firmly, refusing to be intimidated by the silent smirk and arch of eyebrow I receive, "She's a fighter and she's smart. That counts for more than an idiot who can swing a sword!"  
I pause, but Johanna doesn't say anything, so I continue.  
"Then there's the boy from Eleven, Thresh. He's not just going to lie down and die either and he's got the brute strength. More than that though, he's an outlier, he's an underdog and he knows the Games are a fight for survival. Surviving is one of the only skills outliers have the upper hand in and it's one of the most underrated things required to win the Games, but that doesn't make it unimportant."  
Again, I wait for a comment from Johanna, but she doesn't move or speak.  
"Third. Clove, the female from Two. She's not making a show like the peacocks from One, but they say the quiet ones are the most dangerous. She'll be trained to be deadly and more than any of the other Careers, Two seem to be trained to not only have the ability to be deadly, but to also have the capacity.  
"Then there's her district partner," I smile sardonically, "Cato. You and I both thought he was going to win. The moment we saw him, we both saw a victor. He's the obvious choice, the one who will have the best odds," I tilt my head to the side and study her expression, "But he's not the top of the list. Because Twelve had a volunteer and Katniss Everdeen isn't going down without a fight. More than that though, her district knew. You look in the crowds of all the other Reapings and you see relief or despair. Those people looked at her with hope and coming from somewhere like Twelve, where half the people starve to death in the streets, a third die in the mines and the rest are practically suicidal they're so depressed, she has to be something special. A volunteer is always notable. A volunteer with a family and an entire district that actually believes in her is dangerous.  
"And you know it," I finish, leaning forward to give her an accusing stare, "You saw her reaping and you knew. You gave up on me, but I'm not giving up on myself. So tell me Mason, can I beat any of those people? Or am I just another lost cause?"

Johanna surprises me. For a moment she is silent, then she throws back her head and laughs. It's a morbid, cackling, humourless laugh that chills my blood and sends a shiver down my spine.

"That," she states with a dark smile, "remains to be seen, but for now, you're worth my time. Congratulations."

She gets to her feet and abruptly strides out of the compartment. I watch her go, keeping my posture tense and my expression guarded until a few moments after the door slides shut behind her. I'm just sampling an unusual green fruit when the compartment door slides open again. First enters our escort, Anariel, who offers me a shy smile, looking wide awake and excited about something. Behind her stumbles my district partner, he's bleary eyed with his brown hair sticking up messily and rubs his face hard with his hand as he collapses into a seat without acknowledging me.

"Good morning," I offer quietly, flicking my gaze to back to Anariel and giving her a small smile that is hopefully friendly.

"Good morning Rosilda," she replies, taking the seat opposite me, "I hope you slept well?"

"Yeah," I mumble, my eyes going back to my plate, "Er… as well as can be expected. I'm not used to sleeping alone."

This wakes Linden up. He freezes in reaching for the jug of fruit juice and blinks at me several times with a slack-jawed expression. Embarrassment mingles with irritation as I clarify, "My little sister and I share a bed and she moves around a lot in her sleep. I kept waking up and freaking out when nobody was there."

"That's understandable," Anariel murmurs, her forehead crinkling with sympathy, "You must miss your families and friends."

I just nod, glancing back over at Linden and lifting my chin challengingly. He offers me a look that reminds me of a kicked puppy. It's pathetic, but at least he seems to realise he completely misjudged me and feels sorry for it.  
"How about you Butcher-Boy," I can't help but ask with a sarcastic lift of my eyebrows, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes thank you," he mutters, reaching for a thick slice of bread, "What time do you think we will we get to the Capitol, Anariel?"

I don't miss the fact that Linden refuses to look at me, but I'm interested to hear our escorts answer so I dismiss it. Besides, I'm in this to win and Linden hasn't got much of a chance. Not against people like the pair from Two or the girl from Twelve. He just doesn't have it in him and while that saddens me, because it means he'll die, it's somewhat of a relief that I won't have to worry about my district partner stabbing me in the back.

"I suspect we will be there within the next half hour," Anariel says, her eyes brightening with excitement, "You should eat quickly! I just know you're going to love it and you'll want to watch as we approach. The Capitol really is as beautiful as your home, just in a different way, you'll see!"

I smile tightly and return my attention to the food. I'm not going to be the one to tell her that it's not possible for anywhere to rival the beauty of Seven. Nowhere can be quite as good as home. Definitely not the Capitol.

I grit my teeth and try to calm my racing heart, while struggling to hide the panic and fear from my face. When Johanna bluntly told me I'd hate the Prep Centre and what they did to me so much that I'd want to kill somebody, I thought she was exaggerating. The homicidal rage is definitely there, but it's most definitely fear that I was drowning in.

There are two men standing over my naked body. Two men and a woman. Some of the strangest looking people I'd ever met, it wasn't the trailing purple nails, fang-like teeth, bright orange mohawk or blood red eyes that scared me, it was the fact I was lying naked on a table, while three people touched my body. It was the fact that I'd been restrained after screaming my head off the minute one of the men tried to take my clothes off. It was the fact that while my vision blurred, nausea churned in my stomach and unfamiliar hands touched my body, it wasn't a Capitol man that I saw. It wasn't a Capitol gurney I was lying on. It was all I could do to try and stop myself from passing out the flashbacks were so severe.

"We're almost done Rosilda dear," one of the men twitters at me, patting my arm and ignoring the tear that seeps from my clenched eyes and the fact I do my best to flinch away from him.

"You're beautiful now," the woman clucks, sounding offended, "some gratitude would be nice, but then I'm not in this job for the appreciation," she adds in an angry mutter, sounding as though she is leaning right over me, "Your eyebrows looking like the masterpieces they were intended to be, is all the affirmation I need."

"They do look masterful Claudia," the third voice agrees.

Something touches my forehead and a moment later a stinging session comes from the region above my left eye. I clench them tighter, but don't flinch. I'd gotten over that particular form of torture.

"And she's done," the female says a moment later, exhaling loudly, "No thanks to you, girl!"

"She didn't make our lives easy," one of the men whines, "but she is beautiful and we are helping her reach her full potential. Just look at the work of art we've created!"

"She would have gone her whole life not reaching this level of perfection if it had not been for us," the other man agrees, "poor, deprived child, now knows what she's missing and it's all thanks to us!"

"Good work today gentleman," the woman says with satisfaction, "I think even that old cow, Granidea would have been pleased with our work; Marcella will be ecstatic."

"Don't say such things," one of the men whispers, sounding fearful, "She might hear you! That woman has ears everywhere!"

There's a resounding sound of agreement and it's fluttery anxious hands that smooth my hair and brush at spots on my legs, before finally they step away and I hear footsteps moving away from the bed they had moved me to about three hours before. For a moment I think they'll leave in silence, but then one set of feet pause, "Marcella will be here momentarily. Crying will only make your eyes puffy. You're going to ruin all our hard work and then you won't be nearly as beautiful anymore!"

Then the footsteps continue and the door shuts with a snap. I release a shuddering breath, but do not open my eyes. I'm listening intently, searching for some indication that I'm not alone. When several silent minutes have passed, I crack my eyes open and desperately try to move my arms or sit up. I can't. I'm still restrained by the invisible bonds, I still don't have control of my body.

They can't have drugged me because I didn't eat anything and my mind is clear. It's the only thing I have to be grateful for as my eyes flick frantically around the empty room even as I test the limitations of the bonds. I can move my fingers and palms, but from my wrist up, my arms are stuck to the table. I can wriggle my toes, but my feet and legs are similarly stuck and I can lift and tilt my chin minutely, even though I can't move my neck or head. Swallowing thickly I set about regulating my breaths, reassuring myself that I'm alone and testing if I can speak. I know I could when they restrained me, because I yelled and swore so badly they moved me to my own room. Apparently I was disturbing the other tributes.

At least I now knew what Johanna meant when she said that fighting the prep team or my stylist would only make things worse for me. It was only the threat of sedation that finally shut me up. Nothing terrified me more than adding a sedative to the situation I was currently in. At least twenty minutes have gone past before the door opens again. I can't quite see it from my position, but the person - a woman by the clacking of her footsteps - wastes no time in shutting the door and moving into my view.

"Hello Rosilda," she says, coming to stand beside my head and smiling down at me.

By Capitol standards she looks rather normal. She's wearing incredibly high heeled shoes, but even so she's short and very thin, though her cheeks are flushed with healthy colour and there's a sparkle in her eyes. Golden blonde hair which falls in loose curls to her knees is pulled away from her face in an elaborate hairstyle and she's definitely wearing false eyelashes, with bright pink powdered eyelids to match her dress. Besides this and the bright pink dress she sports, she looks almost natural. Compared to the woman in my prep team with fangs and blood red eyes, she's human and beautiful.

"Hello Marcella," I reply stoically. I have no idea who this woman is, but the chance of being right and getting some sort of sense of power is better than lying in fearful silence.

"I'm going to let you get up," she says with a small smile, holding my gaze, "I can't imagine the ordeal you've just been through is very pleasant for anybody, least of all somebody with your… medical history."

"If you know about my medical history," I growl, glaring at her, "Then you're either very brave or very stupid if you are going to let me off this table."

"You don't strike me as someone stupid enough to attack their stylist or make a run for it in one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the Capitol," she responds lightly, lifting a manicured eyebrow and looking at me steadily for a moment, before moving to the foot of my bed and pushing a button on the end. I'm slightly surprised to learn that this beautiful, soft looking woman has a backbone and it makes my respect for her grow as I recognise the truth in her words. The moment I have the ability to move again, I'm flying off the bed and pressing against the wall as far away from it as possible. Marcella doesn't move, watching me carefully as I suck in lungfuls of oxygen and try to hold onto sense and resist the urge telling me to bolt.

"I'm sorry my prep team did that to you," the blonde woman says, "I will be speaking to them about never again threatening sedative or using electromagnetic restraints on my tributes. If you would prefer me to give you a moment to collect yourself, I can wait outside."

I release a controlled, steady breath, my palms pushing hard against the cold wall, then I wipe the remaining moisture from my face and straighten my back, "I'm fine," I grind out, "I just don't like being trapped."

"Understandable," Marcella nods, then picks something up from the basket on the end of my bed and offers it to me, "Put this on and follow me. We'll talk over some light refreshments. I was pulled into this parade last minute. The usual stylist is having some complications with her recent surgical implants."

I take the item from her and realise its a flimsy paper gown. Still it's better than nothing and I'm not the most modest person in the world, so I quickly put it on and follow her out of the windowless room without hesitation. I feel better immediately in the hallway, a slight draft cooling the sheen of sweat on my skin.

"Now, District Seven - as I'm sure you know - normally goes to the Tribute Parade as-"

"Trees," I finish with a sigh, already dreading the entire ordeal as I know it will get me no sponsors.

"But," Marcella says, looking at me sidelong with a sly smile playing around her lips, "I'm no longer an apprentice that can be so easily intimidated by Granidea. She's not going to be coming out of her house until she can fix her appearance and I can take whatever she decides to throw at me a few weeks down the track. All I know is that I'm going to die if I have to watch Seven be the laughing stock amongst stylists any longer!  
"You will not be going as a tree! I have had nearly six years to come up with different designs for Seven and I have a portfolio and a closet filled with them! This is my year and I'm not wasting the opportunity to get my designs out there just because that old bat wants to be traditional!" she scoffs and sneers for a moment, before shaking herself and turning back to me with a smile, "I want to match my tribute with my outfit, not just give you something random, so I hope you're as interesting as you look and as your file appears Rosilda Aspen, because we are about to discuss in painful depth, exactly who you are and what you want the world to see you as!"

I stare at her blankly as she holds open a door to a room I hadn't even realised we'd arrived at.

"Well come on then!" she huffs, giving me a pointed look, "We've got four hours to make this perfect! And let me tell you missy! It's not going to be easy and if you dawdle much longer we're going to have to skip lunch!" her scowl deepens, "And you do not want to be in a room with me if I don't get my lunchtime cup of coffee! It'll make the Bloodbath look like a picnic."

I'm not sure what to think of this petite, blonde, fiery Capitol woman, but I recognise an intelligent decision when I see one and quickly move into the room. Hopefully she's not serious about wanting to know all my darkest secrets, because I have some pretty large skeletons in my closet that I'd definitely rather not see dragged into the light of day.

"So let me see if I've got this right," Marcella says, as she flips through her sketch book which is filled with brightly coloured and interesting costumes, "You love your family intensely and would do anything for you siblings. You love climbing the trees at home and looking out over the forest. You don't mind the rain and the wind and your favourite time of year is spring. You're an intently private person and are very good at observing without being seen. You're perceptive and confident and you know that in the eyes of most you are very beautiful, but you think this is mostly due to the shape of your body rather than anything else. You have a black temper and are very proud, but aren't necessarily quick to anger. You think other people see you as intimidating and you like the fact people leave you alone, but at the same time you miss being the approachable one that could solve people's problems-"

"Okay," I cut her off with a nervous laugh, "I haven't said most of that, I don't know how you can figure all of that out and quite frankly I would prefer not to ever hear so much about myself vocalised ever again. You seem to have a good grip on who I am," I add with a sardonic eye-roll, "We need to get around to making a decision now! Because we actually are going to run out of time and don't you still have to speak to Linden's stylist about this?"

"Yes," she replies tersely and gets to her feet after a moment to go to a telephone mounted on the wall.

I listen as she has a quick conversation with who I can only guess to be Linden's stylist. There's a lot of chatter that I don't understand, technical terms about fabrics and designs and it takes a good fifteen minutes before Marcella's frown relaxes and she begins to nod her head and smile more. Finally she gives a contented laugh, thanks the person, agrees a few times, then wishes them good bye and good luck. I lift my eyebrows at her, expecting her to turn back to me and finally give me some sort of information. Instead she punches in a few more numbers and holds the phone to her ear again.  
"Yes, hello Claudia. I need you three right away and everything from section three of closet c … yes that's what I've decided… I don't care … Let me deal with Granidea … yes, I'm sure - look we're running out of time! If you have a problem, take it up with Seneca Crane!"  
She hangs up the phone with an irritated grunt, but then hurries back over to me,  
"We've got barely two hours to get you ready!" she exclaims before I can say anything, "Get up and follow me!"

I sigh, but do as she says. I'm impressed by how fast she can run down the corridor in her heels and dress and jog after her, impatiently brushing my hair out of my face,  
"Don't touch the hair!" she shrieks, without looking back at me, "I do not have time to tame the curls again! Do you even own a brush?"

"I would lose a brush in my hair," I mumbled, then quickened my pace to catch up to her, "So what have you decided? A skimpy version of a tree? Paper aeroplane? Amazon warrior? You know I liked that one. I think I could pull off Amazon war-"

I'm cut off as a door I'm passing is thrown open and a person angrily steps out, making me smack into a very hard and naked chest. I only just manage to keep my balance, by grabbing the person's arm to steady myself. I'm extremely startled and can only look up in shock at the person. My heart nearly stops when I meet icy blue eyes and realise that the size of the person and the bulging muscles means only one thing. I've just run into the deadliest tribute in the damn Games. It's Cato, the boy from Two and even as I stare at him the surprise on his face turns to annoyance, making fear creep into my throat. I think he's going to hit me or yell, but then his eyes drift downwards. I'm suddenly very conscious of the fact that I'm only wearing a very thin paper dress that probably wasn't made for a person with boobs and feel an ugly blush creeping up my neck.

"Really Aspen, we don't have time for-" Marcella squeaks when she turns back to see the person I've run into.

I want to squeak too, but instead I just step around him and give him a deadly scowl as his eyes rake down my body with familiar interest,  
"Watch where you're going Two!" I snap at him, then with a flip of my hair go to move after my stylist, who is watching with wide eyes.

I don't get far as his hand snaps out to grab my wrist. Before either of us has time to speak a Capitol woman appears in the doorway behind him. I'm disgusted by her appearance before I can help myself. Her skin is stretched and shiny to disguise her age, her lips are fat and fishlike and her high eyebrows give her a permanent look of surprise,  
"Cato darling, it really is just a misunderstanding!" she says, her voice low and husky with a strong Capitol accent, "They weren't insulting your district partner, they're just so pleased to be your prep team. Starstruck if you like."

Cato's angry expression turns to her and I allow myself a moment of surprise as I process this? Was he storming out because he didn't like what they were saying about his district partner? That sort of loyalty wasn't something I thought a Career would be capable of. It makes me blink at him with new eyes.

"Starstruck my arse," Marcella mutters under her breath, the sight of the other woman prompting her to stride back towards me with a furious scowl on her face, "Hello Veranova, fancy seeing you here!"

The false politeness in her voice and the fact that 'Veranova's' pinched expression only gets worse makes it clear that no love is lost between these women,"Marcella," she coos, looking as though she's sucking on a lemon, "What a pleasant surprise," then her gaze lands on me, her lips curl as she takes in my paper dress, "Taking a leaf out of Twelve's book and going for the naked look are we?" she simpers, "I suppose that's what you do when you have no talent. Too bad. She's pretty. Might have done well with a half decent stylist. Wait until you see what I've got planned for District Two, we're going to steal the show… again!"

"At least her tribute isn't running away from her," I scowl, snatching my hand away from Cato's and directing my glare on his stylist. I'm irritated by her arrogant and superior gloating, I loathe people who look down on others and this woman is quite literally looking down her prominent nose at Marcella, "And I'm wearing a dress. Two is the naked one," I give him a look of contempt and take a step away from him, trying not to show that his intense stare is unsettling me.

"Come along Cato," Veranova snaps, her eyes narrowing on me, "We don't need to interact with these outliers."

"Come along Rosilda," Marcella shoots back, "We don't need to interact with these arrogant idiots."

"See you at the parade Two," I find myself snapping, as I push passed him and continue after Marcella.

This time neither of us hesitate to hurry into the room Marcella opens and pull the door shut behind us. My heart is racing and Marcella's face is rather pale, "He's huge," she mutters, shaking her head slowly, "How can anybody hope to-"

With a sideways glance at me she waves a dismissive hand and turns to start barking instructions to the three members of my prep team, all of whom look terrified at the sight of me unrestrained. Within minutes I've got all sorts of wands and brushes in my face as Claudia and one of the men start on my makeup, while Marcella and the other man start pulling garment bags, rolls of fabric and all sorts of strange looking things out. I'm still curious about what I'm wearing, but the encounter with one of my biggest competitors and the reminder that no matter how nice she might be, Marcella is here for her own gain and doesn't really care about me, has reminded me not to let the mask slip. I sit in silence, staring down my prep team, when they tisk and tut, muttering things under their breath as they work. All of them are too scared to look me in the eye and in Marcella's presence they keep their chatter and complaints to a minimal.  
It's at least an hour and a half later before changes I can actually see start being done to me. I'm beginning to get an idea what my costume is, just by looking at what Marcella is doing. It's hard to be sure though, so I'm grateful when she promises she'll show me my finished reflection as she begins to offer items of 'clothing' for the prep team to help me into. It's like pieces of armour and after giving me nude coloured, skimpy lingerie to wear we start from the bottom. My toes are painted and leafy pieces are attached to my ankles, with silky transparent tights ending in garters at my mid thigh. All up my leg vines trail and continue suggestively up to my hip. Next I am given a very short skirt that looks to be made entirely of leaves, in a way that resembles metal plating. Next comes the top. It's like a jacket with only one sleeve that does up at the front and Marcella helps me into it as one of the men works on the leaves that go up my left arm. The problem comes as Marcella tries to make the corset-style piece meet at the front.

"It doesn't fit," she finally states, "It doesn't bloody fit!"

"Have you seen her chest?" Claudia mutters as she pins my hair, "Of course it doesn't fit! We're lucky it fits over her hips! Look how it's gaping at her waist too! I'd have to sell my organs to buy a body like that!"

A warm blush rises up my neck to my cheeks as I desperately look down at myself. Sure enough the material won't fit over my chest.

"We don't have time to do more alterations!" the man whispers in horror, "What are we going to do?" he wails.

For a long moment Marcella stands in silence, her eyes flicking from the clock on the wall back to me and then to her materials, "I can make this work, it's just going to be more sexy than I intended. That's okay," she gives me a tense smile, "With a chest and hips like yours, you can pull it off Aspen."

I'm dreading looking in the mirror, but I just nod and let her keep going. The top is taken off and Marcella starts to add lacing to the front, all the while barking directions to the two men. Claudia frequently makes noises of irritation as she finishes with my hair, adding some form of adornments and giving a few sharp tugs to strands to express her annoyance. She then starts on my… ears?The stress levels in the room are high and Marcella yells at one of the men until her face is red and he's near tears before the corset is once more being pulled on my body. Marcella crouches in front of me, tying the laces and then starts slipping in more green 'leaves'.  
"And you're done!" she shrieks, "Get up quick!"

I'm shoved in front of the mirror and snatched away again so fast I can barely catch a glimpse of myself. I do realise that she was right about the sexy part though. I'm showing off a lot of skin and the shape of the skirt and corset draw attention straight to my boobs and hips. The 'armour' would be about as useful as the paper dress at protecting me, but I do look intimidating. The skirt is longer at the back than the front, but at the front it doesn't even cover to mid thigh, leaving a large amount of exposed skin between the garters and the beginning of the 'leaves' that make up the skirt. The top forms a 'V' at the front and back where it joins the skirt, accentuating my curves and narrow waist through the seams of the costume. My skin is visible between the lacing of the front, giving glimpses of my pale stomach, again though the sweetheart cut of the neckline, only draws attention to and emphasises my full chest. My left arm is covered, with shoulder pads like real armour, made from the same 'leaves' as the skirt and vibrant green flares out from my wrist like metal guards too. My right arm is completely bare. My hair swept over to the other side to reveal my pale neck, collarbone and shoulder, all the way down my arms. The most startling thing isn't the bright green woven into my dark hair, or the half crown, half war helmet thing I wear on my head to make me look even more like a warrior, it is the pointed ears.  
My hair is braided off my face tightly in a half up, with the curls highlighted in green strands. The metal head piece comes down in the middle of my forehead like a 'V', veering out to disappear under my hair, which is held back to expose pointed tips to my ears. Marcella smacks my hand away as I went to touch them.

"They will fall off," she hisses, her eyes flashing, "We don't have time! Get a move on!"

Linden and I meet in the elevator and I find he is dressed in a similar costume as me. His brown hair is streaked with green and he has similar flared pieces on his wrists and shoulders. He however is wearing full length tight trousers, and has most of his upper chest covered with similar armour-esque style straps that joined with his right shoulder piece and went under his left arm in a sling for a hunting bow to sit in. He looks like an actual tree-person warrior, with dramatic makeup to make his eyes look dark and foreboding and a weapon. I just feel like a sex object. Linden is staring at me with wide eyes, but then he clears his throat and determinedly looks down at his feet, a rosy blush appearing on his cheeks,  
"Nice costume."

"Shut up," I growl, "Everyone's going to be looking at me!"

"But they're definitely not going to be laughing at you," he mutters.

I give a mocking bark of laughter and then state contradictorily, "They're not going to be laughing at you either, you look like an actual warrior."

He flinches,"But I'm not one."

"Well I look like a prostitute and I'm not one of those either," I hiss at him. I'm not sure when I got so pissed off, but I do realise that it isn't exactly Linden's fault, so I release a tight breath and wonder in a calmer tone, "What are we actually supposed to be?"

"Dryads," he answers, glancing at me nervously, "That's what my stylist said. Apparently they're from old stories. They're the spirits of trees. The protectors of forests. Apparently they're playful and compassionate until you make them angry, then they become vengeful, merciless and deadly."

I'm not sure whether to laugh or be impressed, so I just nod, "Do you know what we're supposed to do when the elevator stops?" I ask, feeling our descent start to slow.

"Apparently Hillier and Johanna are waiting."

He's partially right. Johanna is there, but not Hiller, and she doesn't look happy, "Come on," she barks, "They're going to start any second."

We follow her quickly and listen with rapt attention as she spouts off a list of instructions, "Walk in there calmly, do not run, do not look stressed, you are _not_ late, everyone should wait for you anyway. Joke around as you get into your chariot, don't let them see if you're nervous or intimidated. When you get out there, don't wave. That's not what your costumes are supposed to be saying. Look around and smile, accept there praise as if you expect it. Be confident and make use of what you have. You're both sexy and mysterious and confident. That's all I want from you. Got it!"

We nod and she pauses a moment, "Good luck," she says, her scowl softening as she eyes both of us for a moment, "It's just around the corner. You'll be fine."

She gives me a sharp shove and taking the hint, I straighten my shoulders, glance at Linden and start walking, "And Thorns!" Johanna calls after me, "Just remember that your brother is watching and give him hell for me!"

I shoot a coy smirk at her over my shoulder, "Trust me Mason, I've got this."

I so don't, but confidence is key. Who cares if this entire thing is superficial, demeaning and sick? I'm supposed to suck it up and put on a show, because I'm a girl with curves in a slutty costume and that's all everyone wants from me. Linden stays quiet, but keeps in pace with me as I stalk down the rest of the corridor that opens out into a big open space. There's twelve chariots and while not all of them are full, ours is the only one that doesn't have anybody around it. I don't waste time looking around at the other tributes, just make a beeline straight for it. I can feel eyes on me. More than one pair, but I ignore them. Instead, I flick my hair irritably and turn to Linden, planting a smirk on my face and tilting my head to the side as I coyly inform him, "I can barely breathe in this damn thing."

He looks slightly put off by the contrast of my words to my expression and tone, but collects himself enough to weakly smile back, "If you faint try not to fall out of the chariot."

"I'm sure you'd catch me," I giggle flirtatiously, touching a hand to his bare bicep. Linden blushes darkly and clams up. "We're supposed to be joking around, remember," I whisper to him, "sexy and mysterious?"

He nods and after a moment says in a carrying voice, "I think Fletcher's going to die when he sees you," Linden's laugh is a little too loud to be natural, "Dark and sexy isn't exactly the sort of look I'd want my little sister going for!"

"Speaking as the little sister, it'll be worse for her to watch her big brother look all 'dark and sexy' than for any of my brothers. It gets you points with your friends, it embarrasses us!"

He smiles widely and shakes his head, "Being a big brother is worse!"

"I had to listen to Johanna Mason complain about my brother!" I argue, "And point out that every girl in the district knows who Fletcher Aspen is!"

Linden freezes, "Your brother even managed to pull Johanna Mason? Is there anybody that's turned him down?"

"The first girl that does manage to turn him down will probably be the one he decides he actually wants," I roll my eyes, but the thought of Fletcher brings a ring of affection to my voice, "He's ridiculous!"

"He's got guts if he can mess with Johanna and still be alive! I'm surprised she didn't kill him! Then again, Fletcher has always been good at getting away with things and with girls. I don't know a girl that isn't in love with him!"

"He's an arse," I mutter wrinkling my nose at his words, "I'm sure there are plenty of girls with sense."

We reach the chariot and I slow for a moment as I consider how I'm supposed to climb in without flashing everyone. Linden hops in ahead of me and continues speaking, not noticing my dilemma."Johanna Mason fell for it!" he shakes his head in amazement, "How the hell does he do it?"

"Good genes," I shrug, still contemplating the climb into the chariot, "That and apparently some girls have a soft spot for the whole confident, playful 'I'm-smirking-like-an-ass-because-I-know-that-you-want-me" sort of thing'."

"He's built and funny," Linden nods contemplatively, "I guess girls like muscles, confidence and humour."

"With a side of charming idiot."

"Muscular, confident, funny, charming idiot," he mutters, "I've only got the idiot part."

I nod absently and am deciding to just go for the quickly step in and hope nobody's watching approach, when hands suddenly close around my hips and I'm being lifted into the chariot. Linden freezes again, his eyes wide and I'm immediately on my guard as I turn to see who has lifted me into the chariot. It's the boy from Two again. Cato. I remember our encounter before in the corridor and find that once again he's giving me an incredibly intense stare. Again it makes my heart race and jangles my nerves and again I lift my chin and scowl instead of flinch. I'm struck again by how tall he is. He's lifted me a good few inches up into the chariot, but only now are we at eye level with each other. That only makes his gaze more intense. His eyes aren't locked on my breasts or the tantalising glimpses of my pale stomach, or even on my legs, they are sweeping my entire body. It's like he's tracing every single line and curve of my person in his mind, as if he finds every part of my appearance beautiful and alluring. A shiver goes down my spine and for a moment I don't know if it's discomfort or something else I'm feeling.

"Excuse me, but what was that?" I demand my voice more icy than even I expected, "Did I give you permission to touch me?"

Cato takes a menacing step forward so that we're almost nose to nose, his gaze hardens and his eyes darken with annoyance. I have to fight my natural instinct to step back, I won't give him the satisfaction. For a moment he just leers at me, then he finally speaks. It's the first time I've heard his voice and it makes my stomach flip. It's a deep velvety rumble that sends tingles all over my body.  
"When you're walking around in a costume like that, you're just begging to be touched without permission Seven. I'd get used to it," he growls and he's so close that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. He holds the position for a moment and for a split second our eyes meet. I'm not expecting it though and automatically my gaze flicks down submissively. It's a natural instinct when I'm so close to his explosive aggression, but Cato still gives a small amused huff.

With one last lingering sweep of my body, he turns on his heel and strides away,  
"That's called sexual assault, you asshole," I mutter too quietly for him to hear.

Beside me Linden tenses up, but I ignore him, watching intently as Cato returns to his chariot. Him and his district partner are dressed as gladiators and I'm a little irritated to note that both of their costumes are nothing besides deadly. It's just me that got the sexist 'warrior' outfit. I also can't help but notice, again, that Cato is _really_ built. I mean, I saw him shirtless in the corridor and I can honestly say that I've never seen muscles like his before in real life. Like at the Reapings, I'm reminded of a marble statue. He's all rippling muscles and harshly defined angles. I doubt there is much softness to him. With the razor sharp jawline, defined cheek bones and armour on, he might as well be made of stone. Still, I can't quite dismiss the fact that even though - as previously noted - he could snap me in half with ease and probably enjoy it, it hadn't been rough hands that lifted me up. They'd been firm, but gentle on my hips and he hadn't thrown me into the chariot, his hands had lingered to steady me and I'd felt their warmth beneath the leaves of my skirt. There's what the Capitol woman from the corridor said too. Making it seem as if he'd stormed out because they'd insulted the dark haired girl next to him. That's not the sort of behaviour I'd have pegged from a typical Career tribute. I wasn't even aware they knew what loyalty was when push came to shove. I narrow my eyes as he easily rejoins his district partner, noting that she has turned and is watching me even as I watch him. Her eyes are dark and mocking, but she doesn't do anything more than smirk slightly before turning her attention to Cato. Cato didn't look back once.  
I'm jolted from my thoughts by the booming of trumpets, followed by incredibly loud music. The parade is beginning. This is my first chance to really make an impression on the crowd, on the people of Panem, on the sponsors and most importantly of all on the Gamemakers. Because really, even if this is all a game, nobody likes to lose their favourite piece.

 **Thank you for reading my story! Please review and let me know what you think!**

 **-xx**


	5. Chapter 5

*** Chapter Five ***

I'm not the only one fuming when the parade is over. The Careers especially look thunderous. District Twelve had completely stolen the show, but then how can anybody compete with setting your tributes on fire? Marcella echoes this thought as she helps me down from the chariot. She sighs quietly, then compliments me on my performance. "You did very well and I am grateful that I got to design something for such a daring, bold and gorgeous woman. Thank you Rosilda."

I don't point out that I didn't have much of a choice, but I do feel slightly guilty for all the death threats I'd been sending her way as I felt the eyes on my chest and body through the performance. "Thank you for not dressing me as a tree," I say sincerely and then smile at her and try to cheer her up, "And congratulations Marcella! This is your year, remember? Show everyone what you've got and I'll do my best to outshine the girl on fire."

She beams at me for a moment, then points out Johanna who is approaching with Anariel and Hillier, "I'll be right back," she promises, "I just want to congratulate Cinna, he's new this year too."

I don't have the least idea who Cinna is, but I nod and move to meet my mentor and escort. Linden is slightly ahead of me and the others are all caught up speaking to him. I take the opportunity to let out a slow breath and try to hide how strong my desire to run and find a blanket to wrap around myself is. My skin is crawling and I'm sick of people looking at my body.  
My neck prickles and I turn slightly to see who this particularly burning gaze belongs to. I'm not really surprised when I make eye-contact with Cato again. He takes his time dragging his eyes up my frame to meet my eyes, but he doesn't break my gaze as I study him in return. I'm grateful for the fact that my cheeks were already flushed, because my pale skin would no doubt betray me. His crossed arms make his biceps bulge and his intensely blue eyes seem to bore into me. I refuse to be the first to look away as I shoot him a questioning look. He just smirks in response, seeming content to stare at me until I burst with discomfort. In the end it's neither of us that break the eye-contact, it's a red haired Capitol woman dancing into my line of vision and throwing her arms around me.  
Immediately my mask slips. I go rigid in her arms, then I'm roughly pulling away, eyes wide and pulse hammering. Anariel barely seems to notice as she quietly, but excitedly comments on my performance, "You were brilliant Rosilda! That was so good! Congratulations!"

"Yeah, yeah," Johanna snipes, grabbing my arm in a tight grip, "Let's get out of here, even I'm sick of all the stares!" I can still feel him watching me as Johanna drags me away and I pull out of her grip with a scowl, shaking my hair back irritably. She just lifts an eyebrow and comes to a stop as she notices Cato, "Go ahead Loveless," she says pointedly to Anariel. The escort gives me a curious glance, but she's not going to argue with Johanna so she hurries after Hillier and Linden. Johanna examines me for a moment, then very calmly states, "He shouldn't be looking at you like that." I don't reply, shifting my weight so I can glance over in the direction of the District Two chariot, even though I can still feel his gaze on me. "What happened?" Johanna presses.

"I ran into him when Marcella was taking me to get changed," I explain quickly, recognising the look in Johanna's eye as meaning arguing or playing dumb would be stupid, "He didn't say anything, but I told him to watch where he was going. Then he lifted me into the chariot before the parade and when I asked him who gave him permission to touch me, he said that if I'm going to look like this I should get used to it," my voice gets angrier as I speak and Johanna's eyes get darker.

"He's still looking?"

"Yes."

Johanna nods once and takes a deep breath. Then without warning she swings around and yells at the top of her lungs, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT BOY? NEVER SEEN A GIRL WITH TITS BEFORE? YOU'D BETTER MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS BEFORE I DECIDE YOU NEED TO BE TAUGHT A LESSON IN FUCKING RESPECT AND GO AND FIND A FUCKING AXE!"

I jump in shock and take a step away from her before I can stop myself. Immediately every single eye in the area turns to us and I have to force myself to straighten my shoulders and lift my chin to stop my arms from crossing protectively over my chest.

"Yes! I'm talking to you!" Johanna roars as Cato eyes her incredulously, "Get your head out of my tribute's pants or I fucking swear I'll cut your dick off! What? You don't think I can take you? Survive the fucking Hunger Games, then come back and–"

"Johanna!" I hiss as she starts taking several threatening steps forward, "Maybe this isn't—"

"Shut your mouth Aspen! This arsehole needs to learn how to show some fucking respect—"

"Woah! Johanna! The boy gets it! Blimey Love, if you had so much anger coiled up in there, you should've given me a call! I'd be more than happy to—" I have to blink several times before I believe that the smiling person walking fearlessly for my psycho mentor is indeed Finnick Odair. Who knew the Finnick Odair was so suicidal? Or so stupid?

"Get out of my way Odair!" I wince as he receives a hard fist to the face as she struggles to free herself from his grasping hands. _Great, now we're damaging Finnick bloody Odair's perfect face as well as threatening other tributes. President Snow and the rest of the Capitol are going to just love us!_

"Believe me, Jo, he gets it," Finnick says, not even flinching as he persists in grabbing Johanna's arms, "And I'm sure that our good friend Enobaria will be having a chat to him about respecting women?"

I look blankly over to where a dark haired woman has appeared next to Cato. She snaps her sharpened animal teeth at Finnick, laughs and then takes Cato's arm, "I think you need to find a hobby Johanna," she calls with a sly smile, "I hear yoga's good for anger management. You should think about that too Odair, I'd hate to think you're working yourself too hard, it would be a shame for the victors back home to find out how simply exhausted you must be."

There's hidden meaning to these words and they're barbed, even if I don't understand them, I understand the tightening of Finnick's shoulders, Johanna's renewed struggling against him and the filthy names she's calling Enobaria, "Perhaps you should start a yoga lesson for Victors," I suggest icily moving forward so I'm not standing uselessly behind the two victors and planting my hands on my hips defiantly, "Seems to me like you all need a healthier outlet for anger."

"Bite me," Enobaria smirks, snapping her canine-like teeth and flicking her eyes up my body tauntingly, "Great work on the costuming there Johanna. It must kill you to look at her, Odair!"

I glare at her and take hold of Johanna's other arm, "Come on," I mutter, tugging on it hard.

"Yeah, listen to the pretty dryad," Finnick agrees, glancing sideways at me with an almost pitying grimace before helping me pull my mentor away, "Bye Enobaria," he yells over his shoulder, "I know you're going to miss me!"

We start walking away, but then a different voice yells from behind us, "Hey Aspen!"

My legs freeze without my consent and I release Johanna to turn back to look at Cato who doesn't really looked at all fazed by the entire episode. Maybe he's used to it. I imagine he's around more victors than I am. Maybe you have to be prone to fits of explosive emotions to win the Hunger Games. The thought is almost encouraging. I can have my explosive moments too. "Can I help you Two?" I ask with stiff politeness, though his serene expression is rather unsettling.

"I hope you're ready for Training tomorrow," is all he says breaking out a challenging smirk that is slightly more familiar.

I just smile coyly in response and turn away with a small condescending laugh. I make sure to swing my hips a little more than usual as I walk away. Ignoring the curious glance I receive from Finnick, I lift my eyebrows at Johanna and saunter past them, heading for the elevator by myself. She doesn't catch up to me and I'm not surprised. I've always payed more attention to Johanna Mason than other victors shown on the televised broadcasts of the Games. It's rare to see her without Finnick Odair far away. It's always been obvious to me that the two of them are friends and judging by the display Johanna made, she needed to talk to a friend. I'm not sure she has that many to choose from, either.  
As the elevator doors close behind me I idly wonder if needing to talk to Finnick is more significant to her making the display than it appeared. I bet he has to help her rein in her temper often. This way, nobody would suspect anything of their conversation. By the time I reach the seventh floor however, my thought are firmly fixed on Cato. I'm starting to think that killing him might be easier on my conscience than I thought. Hating someone does a lot for the homicidal urges and he's definitely rising on my hate list.  
I mean… what a fucking asshole! Who acts like that around a girl they've just met, that they're probably going to murder? Sick, perverse and twisted monsters that's who! Being good looking doesn't excuse that sort of behaviour! If he was an ugly, deformed oaf I'd be disgusted at the mere sight of him. He must be the sort of boy who's used to girls tripping over themselves for his attention. He's probably waiting for me to throw myself at him and beg to be part of his Career Alliance. The thought makes me angry and makes it easier to forget the other things. The things that would contradict the persona I'm giving him (arrogant, sexist, aggressive bastard), like the fact he clearly respects his female counterpart enough to take serious offence to any demeaning comments made about her and the fact he was gentle when he lifted me up and that his hands never even thought about wandering from my hips. Thinking about those things would only confuse me and the last thing you want is to be in the Hunger Games is confused - you'd probably end up dead. Better to be cold and clinical. Better to not look beyond the surface.

"Any last minute advice?" I manage to get out to Johanna as we ride down in the elevator in tense silence. We're alone, Linden and Hillier having left fifteen minutes ago after the old man announced he was going to go deaf if he had to listen to Johanna and I yell at each other a moment longer. That made both of us shriek that he was deaf and Anariel flee along with them.

"So now you want to listen to me?" she all but snarls.

"You are supposed to know what I can do to survive," I point out with as much patience as I can, "isn't it your job to at least pretend like I may have a chance?"

She's silent, but the tension sky-rockets and I think I hear her growl, "Just do your fucking best and don't make friends," she snaps, "But then you should have no problems there."

I wouldn't take offence, but I'm already irritated with her and the last part is delivered in a particularly vicious way that I know is supposed to hurt, "I bet you didn't have any problems there either!" I retort, glaring at her.

"What's that supposed to mean Thorns?" she's turned now and is facing me front on, her fists clenching and her face starting to go red. It would be more intimidating except I know I have both weight and height on my side and I don't think she'll do more than throw a few punches. Not even Johanna Mason wants to risk being arrested for attempting to kill a tribute.

"It means you're a bad-tempered, impatient bitch who has already given up on me based off district gossip, the fact my brother is Fletcher Aspen, that I didn't volunteer and what Marcella dressed me in last night!" I spit at her, "I thought you of all people would know better than to judge based off appearance!"

"Don't pretend like you know a single thing about me Aspen!" she roars right back, taking a step closer to me.

"What's the bloody problem, Johanna?" I demand, ignoring the fact the elevator is slowing down, "You didn't seem to have one at first! What changed?"

"I realised that just like every single fucking year, you're going to get my hopes up and then you're going to die!" she snarls in my face, advancing menacingly on me and trying to force me back against the wall of the elevator. It's a clear intimidation technique and we're nose to chin because I refuse to step back, "You haven't got what it takes to win this Aspen and I'm not going to get _invested_."

It's with a wordless cry of fury that I shove her as hard as I can against the wall of the elevator, "Fine!" I yell at her, "Give up! Everyone else gave up on me too, what's another name to add to the list?" I laugh humourlessly, "I'm going to assume that means you don't have any words of wisdom to give me Mason. I'll try not to die during training!" The elevator doors have been open for a few moments, but I barely notice as I step out of them and stalk forward until some instinct tells me to duck. I do so at once and hear Johanna screech in frustration as the cup she threw at the back of my head shatters on the ground. "Nice one Johanna," I snipe, "Now you have a pissed off tribute and still no coffee. Tomorrow can you take your morning anger out on Linden? He's smart enough to keep his mouth shut!"

"Where's the fun in that Thorns?" she demands angrily, "I'm not coming down to pick you up like some fucking babysitter. I'm sure you're smart enough to make your own way up to the seventh floor!"

"That's debatable!" I call over my shoulder, "I just picked a fight in an elevator with Johanna Mason, I'm clearly not that intelligent." I can hear her cackling behind me and I smirk to myself as I search the room for Linden and Hillier. Hillier is talking loudly about how Linden shouldn't ignore the survival stations, but Linden is looking at me with exasperation over his mentor's shoulder. He mutters something to Hillier then moves over to me quickly, "You're still alive," he notes, "I was worried."

"Please," I snort, "I can handle Johanna. Better she rips into me than into Anariel! I don't start crying!"

"That's good!" Hillier says loudly, hearing my last comment, "Johanna hates criers. Keep yelling at her and you two will get along fine," he pats my arm and winks at me, making me offer him a small smile.

Linden just looks concerned, "She called you a walking prosti-"

"I heard her," I cut him off, looking around the room. A few people had witnessed the tail end of mine and Johanna's interaction and some were still watching us curiously, "I'll let you two finish talking." I give Hillier a small smile then move passed Linden to where the number seven is painted on the floor. I've been given a circle to stand in, but it bugs me that they just expect us to stand inside like sheep off to slaughter, so I stand beside my circle instead. Linden speaks to Hillier for a few moments longer, then they part ways. Linden moving somewhat reluctantly towards me and Hillier for the elevator.

"You know you're supposed to stand inside the-"

"I'm fine out here."

He nods cautiously and moves into the circle. We stand in silence for a long moment, watching as more tributes begin to arrive. I'm blankly staring around the training room, trying to decide where I'm going first, but Linden's eyes are fixed on the doors. I can tell the moment the first Careers arrive. The tension in the room sky-rockets and I can almost smell the increased level of fear. I don't look over, focusing on scanning my eyes over the weapon racks, but beside me Linden shifts his weight closer to me. I glance down and smirk as I notice he's only got one foot inside the circle. "You know you're supposed to stand inside the circle?" I tease him, looking back at the weapons.

"You know you're annoying?"

"You know that I don't care?"

"You know that I think you're psycho?"

"You know that–" I stop speaking because I can feel the burn of eyes on me again and only one person I've met in the Capitol can stare at me so intensely that I can feel his stare.

Linden follows my gaze to what has caught my attention and makes a small noise of discomfort as I meet Cato's eye with a raised eyebrow. I'm the one to look away, but I do so with an air of disinterest, turning back to continue my conversation with Linden as though it's much more important that him, "You know that being psycho could actually be considered a compliment here?" I smirk at him, ignoring Cato.

"Johanna was right," Linden murmurs, "He really is looking at you."

I roll my eyes at him and don't respond, turning to survey the weapons again. I can still feel the weight of his gaze on me and when Linden gives a small, weak sounding cough, my ears prick up at the sound of approaching footsteps, "Do you think we're more likely to have a desert or snow?" I wonder aloud, "Last extreme climate arena was a desert, wasn't it?"

"Er…"

"No," I shake my head, "It was snow. That was the year the last idiot from Two won-"

"The seventieth Hunger Games," a deep voice interrupted me, "Plateau of ice. Duration: eleven days. Victor: Ramsay Folkton, District Two."

I don't bother turning to look, though my instincts are screaming at me that there's danger, "Probably means we're more likely to have a desert than ice then." Linden doesn't respond and I don't turn to look, instead I pivot slowly on the spot to look at the stations behind me. It's a physical battle against natural instincts to turn my back on someone that my body informs me is a predator.

"Perhaps."

The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I register how close he is to me. It sounds like his mouth is directly behind my right ear. It takes all of my concentration not to flinch away. The last thing I want is for him to mark me as a target. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see," I shrug and then proceed to flat out ignore him, "Oh look at that Linden! They have a tree climbing station!" I laugh sarcastically, "I bet I could kick your pampered, townie arse."

"Yeah," he mutters, managing to sound faintly annoyed, "I'm going to challenge Rosilda Aspen to a tree climbing competition! What a great way to lose my dignity."

"Oh come on," I reach out and touch his arm, giving him a pleading look, "It could be fun."

"I'll lose. You climb trees for a living."

"True," I note, then give a contemptuous sniff in the direction of the tree, "Besides, that tree is made of plastic."

"It's definitely not real," Linden agrees with a sigh, "But then a tree inside would be sort of sad."

"It defeats the purpose," I agree flippantly, "Maybe you can race me in a hammock making contest instead?"

"If you're as bad at sewing and weaving as your sister says, I'd win."

"You don't know that," I frown, "Laina's definition of bad at sewing is warped. Have you seen the things she sells? Oh wait, you probably get all your clothes from her and mother, don't you, Townie?"

"You know, that shouldn't be as insulting as you make it out to be. Your mother and sister own a shop, so you're not full lumberjack anyway!"

"They lease a shop, there's a difference."

As I turn to glare at Linden, the Career from Two stops trying to stare me down. His attention is caught by the arrival of the tributes from District One and I almost breathe a sigh of relief as I see his weight shift. Just as I think he's going to walk away, his eyes snap back to me and he snatches my wrist in his using it to tug me close for a moment. I'm struck with a rich, musky and intoxicating smell, but very quickly this observation is drowned by adrenaline and fear. "We'll be talking again," he growls in my ear, his grip tightening for a second before he stalks off.

I glare after him, rubbing my wrist with annoyance and giving him a taste of his own medicine, by refusing to take my eyes off him as he greets District One. The gorgeous blonde girl eyes him with interest and before Cato's district partner, the petite brunette - Clove - even reaches them, she's got her hand on his bicep and is giggling flirtatiously. My lip curls in disgust as he reacts exactly the way she wants, smirking, flexing his arms and leaning in close to her and in the end I have to look away. That sort of flirting is bad enough on a regular basis. In the Hunger Games it's nauseating. It makes me angry, I can't understand how tributes can hook up with someone that could be dead in a few days, with someone they might kill, or who might kill them. It disgusts me.

"That was weird," Linden breathes, his own eyes following the interaction closely.

I swallow thickly, "No… that wasn't weird, that was extremely bad. Why the hell has he taken an interest in me? Careers are only supposed to be interested in other Careers and the complete weaklings!" I scowl darkly, my fear overtaken by anger, "Damn, stupid arsehole! Why's he even paying attention to me?"

"You're kind of hard to ignore," Linden says, surprising me enough that I turn to look at him.

"What?"

"I'm just saying," he lifts his hands in surrender, "If I was you, I'd avoid him like hell and hope the flashy girl from One catches his attention instead."

I must be giving him a pretty scary look, because he swallows nervously and lifts his hands again. We spend the rest of the wait time in silence, him looking down at his feet, while I muddle over my interactions with Cato. I'm annoyed and quite upset that he does indeed seem to have singled me out when my plan was to coast along without drawing attention to myself, but it's not like I can do much about it now. One thing's for sure, I am going to work my arse off to avoid him. Linden is definitely right about that.

After the introductory talk about the rules of training and some depressing statistics about what most tributes die from, we are set loose and I go about my plan. I move away from Linden without a backwards glance going straight for the ropes course. I learnt a very long time ago that if you want to watch something, it's best to do it from up high. People very rarely look up. I'm expecting the ropes course to be absurdly easy for me, but it actually takes a bit of effort for me to get to the highest point. I'm not sure many of the tributes would be able to make it and I take note of this and file it away for the inevitable conversation on what on earth I'm going to show the judges in my private session. For a good twenty minutes I'm content watching from the ropes course, but then one of the other outlier tributes starts at the beginning and though I am sure they have no idea I'm up here and am almost positive they won't make it to where I am, I start looking for an alternate view point. Soon enough, I'm walking along a rafter at the very top of the roof to where the support beam connects with the highest part of the ceiling. I sit down comfortably, straddling the beam with my back resting against the support post. I watch.  
For the next hour that's all I do. I take note of which weapons the Careers are using. I see which district partners look like they're going to be working together. I set about trying to work out who my biggest competitors are going to be and how I'm going to beat them. I'm also rather amused when Linden stops in the middle of the room and slowly turns on the spot as if looking for something. After a few moments he scratches his head and moves off to the snares station.  
People never look up.  
I stare as Cato decapitates a few more dummies and watch as Clove hits a few more bullseyes then start making my way back to the rope's course. I'm almost there when I notice the twelve year old from District Eleven has started on the first part and appears to be flying through it. Crouching down, I settle in to watch. She might as well have wings her steps are so agile and precise. She moves through faster than I did, more easily than I did and I'm surprised when she too pauses in the middle of the course and looks down. She doesn't stay nearly as long as me, for which I'm glad, because after ten minutes of crouching completely still on a thin piece of wood at least ten metres above the ground, my calves are cramping. I don't move though, using the time to practice my skill at unseen movement and hiding. At one point the little girl looks around and I wonder if she can feel eyes on her, she seems to look straight at me, but I don't move a muscle and her eyes slide over me blankly. She shakes her head and continues on with the course.  
It's movement that attracts the eye. If you can fight the adrenaline induced fight or flight instinct and stay completely still, chances are someone who isn't expecting to see you won't. Humans are notorious for tricking their brains into seeing, hearing and thinking what they want to see, hear or think. It's a flaw that I am well skilled at using. Protective, bossy and tattle-taling older siblings make learning how to escape unseen a necessity if I wanted to have any fun as a kid. Of course it had also gotten me into a far bit of trouble in the past.  
I give her a few minute's head start, then complete the second half of the course myself, opting to swing down from the last rope to practice my landings rather than climb down the ladder. It's mostly because Linden is standing right there and I can't resist giving him a fright. Sure enough he lets out a yell in fright, "Crikey!"

I snort with laughter as I move away, "You're lucky I didn't have a knife Butcher-Boy!"

He chuckles nervously and follows me as I go over to edible plants. I have a good knowledge of the plants that grow in Seven, not just the edible ones, but the medicinal ones too, seeing as Tillia is training to be a doctor and often enlisted me or Laurel to help her collect herbs, but I don't know anything about plants that grow elsewhere. Linden gets bored quickly, especially after the trainer has to karate chop him to stop him from eating nightshade and wanders off, but I would happily spend the rest of my morning here. I have been there for almost an hour when a heavy arm settles around my shoulders. The smell of the person is vaguely familiar and the sheer weight of the arm and height of them gives away who it is even if my suddenly elevated heartbeat doesn't. "I don't know what's wrong with you Two," I say calmly, easily selecting a stem of mint from the selection the trainer has put out in front of me and popping it into my mouth, "But I really don't like people touching me. I thought I made that clear."

"You know my name Aspen," I can tell he's smirking just from his tone, "Why don't you use it?"

"What do you want?" I ask with a little more force, selecting the dandelion, radish, strawberry, chicory and thyme as being the obvious edible plants and trying to focus on the remaining three to work out which the last safe plant was.

"I want to know why a girl as confident as you is wasting her time at edible plants?"

"Because I don't want to starve or poison myself," I respond impassively.

Cato laughs loudly, it's an arrogant, condescending noise that grates on my nerves in its falseness, "The Edible Plants Station is just an excuse to come over and try to poison yourself before the trainer can stop you. Feeling suicidal Seven? Too scared to go into the Games?"

"If that's how you feel, why are you here?" I ask, refusing to let him bully me as I pick up one of the plants to examine the leaves, then wrinkle my nose and set it back down. I almost pick up the next one too before I recognise it and quickly retract my hand, instead selecting the third to be the edible one.

"Are you bored with decapitating dummies?" I ask in a drawling tone, breaking off one of the leaves of the plant and sniffing it cautiously before slowly popping it in my mouth. The trainer smiles and doesn't try the Heimlich manoeuvre, which I take to mean I got it right.

"So you were watching," Cato sounds rather pleased about this and I turn to give him my full attention for the first time.

I'm still smirking in satisfaction at my victory, but my smirk is put to shame by the smug one Cato is sporting, "I noticed that that trainer was starting to look worried you would run out of plastic necks to sever."

He gave a cocky laugh, "Is that an offer to let me have a go at yours?"

I roll my eyes to hide my stomach churning disgust and to stop myself from lifting my hand to cover my neck, which suddenly felt very vulnerable as he eyed it intently, "Haven't you got any skills besides swinging your sword at a dummy's neck? Go lift weights or something, I'm busy." I turn back to the trainer, who has silently set out another bundle of plants for me to pick through, but it seems I may have pushed too far. Cato's form suddenly presses against my back and his hands come around to grab both my wrists as he leans down to talk directly into my ear. My pulse hammers and I curse internally for not noticing his approach fast enough to be able to escape before we'd even started talking.  
"You do not decide when I leave, what I do or how I choose to spend my time Seven," he growls in my ear, "You're mine and you better start showing some respect or I might decide it really is time to sever that pretty head from your neck. Am I clear?"

I want to sarcastically say, 'not particularly', but my brain is caught on two words. You're mine? Excuse me? I want to be feeling indignant anger, but instead all I'm feeling is panic. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I don't want to be claimed by a Career! All that means is that they're calling dibs amongst their peers on being the one to kill you. My skin crawls where he touches me and I catch the eye of the trainer for a moment. Her expressionless facade has dropped and her eyes are flicking nervously to where Peacekeepers line the outskirts of the room. I know they'll be watching. The Gamemakers are probably watching the interaction closely too, waiting to see what will happen. They won't intervene though, because this is a television show and until Cato starts throwing punches, he's not breaking any rules.  
"You really know the way to a girl's heart," I manage to get out, still sounding bored, even though it's a beat too late, "Still I suppose there was a compliment in there. 'Pretty' is a lot better than implying the clothes my stylist chooses for me, makes me a slut. We're making progress."

I can't see Cato's expression, but his grip doesn't loosen and he doesn't move. The trainer's eyes are wide with fear though, so I'm clued into the fact he doesn't think I'm funny. It's the only warning I have before Cato releases one of my hands and bangs his fist down hard on the table, scattering plants and making both me and the trainer jump. I do it silently, the Capitol woman squeaks and takes several hurried steps away.  
Fear must make me stupid, because I find myself turning in the cage he has created around me with his arms propped on the table on either side of my form. I turn so I'm face to face with him and cross my arms to give him an unimpressed look.  
"Now what was that for? Try using your words Two, not all of us are barbaric enough to understand that sort of sign language—"

I'm cut off by him abruptly seizing my face between his hands. I freeze instinctively, going completely still and silent so as not to startle him into aggression. His face is very close to mine and he's scowling murderously as he stares at me. Then his expression smoothes out slightly, and he's smirking again. He must be able to hear my heart or see fear in my eyes or…  
"The best thing about pale girls is that they can't keep their emotions off their faces."  
Damnit. I don't know why my cheeks are heating up. Don't most people go pale when they're scared?

"You want me Seven and you're mine. Nobody else is going to touch you," his expression goes hard again, but his eyes are still dancing with mirth as he caresses my cheek with the tenderness of a lover, "And I'm going to enjoy watching the blood drain out of those pale cheeks. I'll make sure your death is interesting Seven, after all, if you've got Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason coming to your rescue, you must be something special. I don't want to disappoint such a star-studded audience," he releases me with a wink and swaggers back over to the sword station as if nothing has happened. For a moment I'm frozen to the spot staring after him, then my numbing fear turns to anger; pure unbridled rage that makes my blood pound in my ears, my gaze tunnel and adrenaline surge through my body.

"Sick, sadistic, sexist, fucking wanker," I hiss after him, striding over to a weapon's station myself. I need to get rid of some anger and hacking away at something with an axe can only help with that. I also want to prove I'm not going to be broken by him, I'm not going to cower away and let him terrify me into submission. If he wants to kill me, he's going to have a hell of a fight on his hands and I want him to know that I won't just lie down and die the way he wants me to. Hopefully I'll take at least part of him with me! I ignore the trainer and seize the biggest axe there is. It's slightly heavier than I'm used to, but I only want two minutes of hard out hitting something before I go back to the survival stations.  
A roar from behind me tells me that Cato is back at decapitating things. I grimly swing the axe onto my shoulder and select a nearby concrete pillar to expend my anger on. The dummies will crumple with one low and I want a continuous stream of as many swings as I can get in before some Capitol person tries to tell me destruction of property is a rule they forgot to tell us.  
"Fucking asshole!" I curse under my breath as I hear his sword collide with another dummy.  
Then my axe is swinging. After the third hit I release a yell of pent up frustration and go all out for the next three. I only get in two more after that before a Peacekeeper is yelling at me. He can't get close because I'm swinging my axe too wildly, but I merely hit the post once more then throw my axe as hard as I can at one of the targets at the knife throwing station. It makes a solid hit right in the groin region of the target - not where I was aiming, but nobody needs to know that. I straighten up, wipe my hair off my sticky forehead and march back over to the edible plants station, where the trainer gives me a fearful look and promptly knocks over three trays of plants. I close my eyes and pinch my nose, before making my way over to Linden who is watching me from the hammock making station.

"Go away," he whispers anxiously as I experimentally lean on his hammock, then collapse into it when it holds my weight, "Now everybody's looking at me too!"

"I'm hiding," I mutter, crossing my aching arms over my sweaty face, "just give me a minute."

"I'm going to tip you out," Linden threatens, rocking the hammock slightly.

"No you won't," I sigh, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and hoping that when I open them, everything will turn out to be a bad dream.

"Yes I will!"

"You're too scared of me!" I scoff, opening my eyes and moving my hands to peer out at him.

Linden pauses, then frowns, "Damn. That's right, you're Rosilda Aspen."

"Poisonous, frigid bitch," I mutter darkly.

Linden doesn't respond, so I swing my legs out of his hammock and go to find another station. It shouldn't affect me that he didn't say anything - I'm not supposed to be getting any more attached to Linden and it should no longer matter what people back home think about my claims - but I can't help but feel a little hurt nonetheless.

 **Sorry about the slightly late update! I should be back on my weekly schedule this weekend. Thanks so much for reading! Please review and let me know what you think! I really love hearing from you and your opinions matter to me a lot. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

*** Chapter Six ***

I'm glad when lunch is called, it saves me from my pitiful attempts to set a fire. I'm too angry and I keep knocking the pile of wood over. I hang back as everyone leaves the room, slipping behind a few stations and sticking to the shadows. By the time I enter the cafeteria almost everyone is sitting down and has their food. It's well lit, but I still do my best to avoid unwanted attention and I've filled my plate and am just about to sit down at a table in the corner of the room when someone calls my name.

"Aspen!" I close my eyes and open them again, slowly sinking into my chair and hoping he'll just leave me alone, "I'm talking to you Seven!"

"I can hear that," I mutter under my breath, grabbing a random bread roll from the basket on my table.

"It's Rosilda, right?" another voice asks, it's female and I'm curious enough that I glance over to the Career table.

Every single tribute is watching this exchange and I figure it's probably not a good idea to publicly snub all the Careers. They tend to get angry about things like that and it'd probably be a bad idea to piss off a bunch of ruthless, glory-hungry murderers, "Yes," I say quietly, "Rosilda Aspen, District Seven."

The girl that spoke is the girl from One: Glimmer, I remember her name is. I address her because I've decided that I really don't like Cato and I know that he's the sort to consider himself the leader of their little group and the rebuff will go straight to his ego. I think it's big enough to take a few hits.

"And you're Glimmer. The competition if I do what my mentor wants and go for the 'sexy' approach in my interview, right?"

"You definitely have a nice rack."

I decide I don't like Glimmer's district partner either. Marvel leers at me and laughs loudly as if he's cracked a wonderful joke. The boy from Four whose name I can't remember sniggers too. "I like you," the other half of District Two declares, her dark eyes flashing with mirth, "I appreciate bluntness."

"Not in your knives I suspect," I point out impassively, making her let out a barking laugh.

Cato growls and starts to speak, but then coughs loudly, gasping for air. Clove looks rather smug for a moment until she's suddenly wincing and clutching her leg under the table, "Damnit Cato," she hisses, throwing a filthy look at him, which he returns in kind.

"Look Rosilda," Glimmer begins, throwing an irritated look at her 'allies', "We were just wondering—"

"Shut your mouth if you know what's good for you One," Cato threatens, throwing a murderous glare at Clove, "You're sitting with us Seven. Lucky you. Now get over here."

"Cato," Glimmer hisses disapprovingly and rather bravely in my opinion.

"Got a problem One?"

Glimmer visibly flinches at his harsh tone and quietly shakes her head. Clove scoffs loudly, but doesn't say anything, looking pointedly at me. I start as I realise what's just happened. I just got invited to sit with the Careers. _What the hell_. Do I _look_ like a trained killer? Well… I suppose that's sort of the point of the tough-girl approach I've landed myself with, but join the Careers? I cling to anger at Cato to avoid the rising panic within me. So far I've managed to avoid _completely_ freaking out about the fact there's a good chance I'm going to _die_ in the next few weeks, but the thought of eating lunch with the most likely suspects in my own murder and making _conversation_ with them is threatening to crack my facade of being completely put together and mentally sound. Instead of hysterically laughing in the Careers' faces, hiding under the table or flat out running from the room, I carefully arrange my face into an expression of cold warning.

"Excuse me?" I say with forced politeness, "I don't recall agreeing to the fact that you control me Two. Don't tell me what to do."

"We'd really like it if you'd come and sit with us," Glimmer says in a rush, shooting a fearful glance at Cato.

"Yeah," Marvel agrees, his gaze fixed on me, "You should definitely come over. I have a feeling you and I could be good fr—" This time there is no disguising the display of violence. Cato blatantly jabs his fist into One's kidney and I have to hide a wince. Even though the boy seems like a bit of an idiot, I know that a hit to the kidney hurts - it's my preferred target in the torso region.

"We just want to get to know you," the girl from Four speaks up, sounding way too cheerful and bubbly to be sitting at the table, "You seem really interesting!"

"Really?" I ask incredulously before I can stop myself, quickly hardening my tone to one of contempt I add, "And… why is that?"

"Because you made Cato—"

"Because we said so," Cato cuts cross his district partner loudly and firmly, "if you're as smart as you think you are, you'll do as I say," his voice doesn't rise in volume, but the expression on his face is telling me arguing is a really stupid idea.

But the last thing I want to do is sit with the Careers. Lunch is when alliances are formed and I do not want to be in the Career Pack. I have morals. I have standards. There are some things I will not do, survival be damned. Joining the Career pack is one of those things. If — _when_ I win the Hunger Games, it won't be because I had an alliance with someone and happily let them die so I could win. Forming attachments in the Hunger Games is stupid. Forming an alliance with the most untrustworthy tributes in the damn thing is _really_ stupid. I won't endanger myself like that, regardless of my moral code — it may be small, but I do have one, and I hate the way the Careers view the Games. Hate and respect it maybe, but hate it all the same. They let the Capitol brainwash them into thinking it's about winning glory, they _like_ the Games - some of them live for the annual event. But, the Hunger Games aren't about giving the districts some trophy to compete for; they're about destroying free will, manipulating the districts into distrusting each other, taking away our security, placing fear in the hearts of the future generations and most of all, about showing just how powerful the Capitol really is. Because we do it; we do what they want. We go into the arena and we fight each other to the death. Every goddamn year; like trained beasts. Of course the Careers are the worst of us all - the Capitol's very expendable dancing monkeys. I'll not put aside my pride to even pretend to dance to their tune.  
I twist my ring anxiously around my finger underneath the table and draw strength from the words, using them to calm my racing heart: _Alis Volat Propriis_. She flies with her own wings.  
"While I'm really grateful you think I'm interesting," I begin slowly and carefully, "I don't really think it would be a good idea for me to come over there. Thanks all the same, but I'm happy here."  
It's like the air has been sucked out of the room. Every other tribute is holding their breath, waiting to see how this rejection will be taken. Four both look politely confused, Clove is shooting amused glances at her district partner, Glimmer almost looks smug, Marvel's too busy staring at my boobs to listen and Cato—

"Why don't you think it would be a good idea Seven?" Clove asks, shooting me a sly smile that tells me she is fully aware she's stirring the pot and that she's enjoying every minute of it. Her quick, dark humour tugs at my own dry, twisted wit and suddenly I'm stirring the pot too. _Stupid_.

"My mother raised me to be polite," I explain sweetly, "And while I'm not sure if threatening to strangle someone over lunch is considered polite, actually doing it, must be incredibly rude. I think to be on the safe side I should stay here."

"And why would strangling someone be an issue Aspen?" Clove almost sings, looking gleefully at her district partner.

I smile slightly at her and then lock gazes with Cato, "Because the next time your district partner tries to tell me what to do, I'm going to throttle him. The rest of you seem nice, but I wouldn't want to spoil your lunch. Thanks for the invitation, I'm honoured to be considered interesting."  
With that I break my gaze with Cato and turn around to pick up my bread roll. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and listen to the laughter and curse words coming from behind me. Is anyone going to come over and try to attack me? I don't hear footsteps, but I'm on edge all lunchtime and I scoff down my food in record time. When I'm done, in an effort to avoid biting the inside of my cheek or drumming my fingers on the table, I resort to stretching out my arms, which are aching from the intense session I had with the too-heavy-axe and the concrete post. I don't know what to think except that I am in serious trouble. I don't like being noticed. Nothing bad happens if nobody notices you. Now every tribute has not only noticed me, but they'll also have taken note. That's not good at all. In fact, it might quite literally be the death of me.  
I stand up abruptly to go back into the Training Centre only to have someone grab my arm. I wrench away and lift up my hands defensively, thinking it'll be Cato or another Career. It's not, it's Linden and he's pale faced and wide eyed.

"Are you mental?" he whisper yells at me, "Are you suicidal? Did I get a mental, suicidal idiot for a district partner?"

"Want to say that again Butcher-Boy?" I threaten in irritation, renewed determination to avoid any attachment hardening my gaze, "You told me to go away, now follow your own advice!"

"First Johanna Mason and now the entire Career pack! Do you even feel fear? Because it's there to let you know you're probably doing something _stupid_!"

"Don't pretend like you know a thing about me, Fawley," I hiss at him with real anger now, "I made the best of a terrible situation and unless you want to be next, you should probably avoid me—"

"Oh so you do know what avoiding is then?"

The pointed look he gives towards the Careers makes me scowl and flip him a filthy hand gesture before turning my back on him and walking away. He's right though. What I did was mental. My first priority this afternoon is to stay as far away form all the Careers as possible. It's not easy. I manage to avoid most of them, just barely. I do some first aid until Glimmer shows up. Try and learn some snares until Marvel starts moving towards me and then resort to camouflage, before slipping back to the snares. I'm just perfecting a simple one that will hopefully catch me some rabbits or birds - hopefully birds, because I hate rabbit - when my neck starts crawling again. I jump up at once and go to dart away, practically running to the tree climbing station. I'm up the stupid fake tree in a flash and soon enough have made my way back to the spot in the middle of the roof. There can't be much more of training left, but my nerves are completely shot. I need to talk to Johanna about what's happened. I need advice, because I don't have _a_ _clue_ what I should be doing.  
I wanted to learn how to use a spear in training. I wanted to learn how to build better fires. I wanted to learn some snares and brush up on edible plants. So far I can tick off edible plants and that's about it.  
What I wouldn't give for a hand to hand combat session right now. Unfortunately that was on the list of skills I was saving for my private training session. Johanna had banned me from going anywhere near the wrestling or weaponless fighting areas. She'd also said it was probably a good idea to stay away from weapons in general. I'd already screwed that up by using the axe. And my left bicep was seriously sore from doing it. It was my own fault too, because like an idiot I picked the biggest axe and didn't consider the effect it would have on my muscles. _Moron_.  
I sigh and turn my attention to watching the other tributes. I'm particularly interested in the three outliers I named in my top five. All three are rather good at staying under the radar - much better than me! - and have stuck to survival skills all day, I'd been paying enough attention to notice that. Now though, Thresh is lifting weights. Judging by the interested look he's getting from some of the Careers, he is lifting a fairly respectable amount too. Even as I watch Cato leaves the sword station to join him. After only a few minutes he's spotting Thresh's benching, which confirms my lifelong suspicion that boys are so weird they're probably mutants.  
Cato seems to be almost friendly and though both are noticeably on guard, they laugh and joke easily with each other. It's odd to hear a real laugh come from his lips and see something aside from a smirk on his face. It makes him look less statue-like. He looks younger, a little more human. I even catch myself thinking he has a nice smile before I firmly turn my attention to the redhead girl from Five. She's a watcher too. I can tell because she's been subtly shadowing the girl from Twelve all day. She's picked Twelve as a fighter too. Both girls are good with the edible plants. Twelve knows them and Five seems to be a quick learner. I watch as she intently observes the trainer showing a younger boy how to build a fire from the neighbouring station and then breezes over and almost perfectly recreates it. She's clearly incredibly smart and perceptive, and that's what makes her dangerous.  
The tributes from Twelve are practically joined at the hip, but I'm not sure that Katniss is all that happy about it. I have to search my memory for the boy's name and I find that I don't know it. I take a moment to scrutinise him and realise that like Linden, he just looks too… pleasant to be able to win the Games. Looks can be deceiving though and he's much better fed than some of the other tributes, which means he's bigger and probably stronger than most.  
I don't come down from my view point until it's time to leave and by the time I've climbed down all the other tributes are gone. The trainer on the rope's course, who is supposed to be timing our progress gives me an odd look, which I ignore. I'm dead set on getting straight to an elevator and escaping, but it takes all my skill in moving without being seen to get passed the group from Districts One and Two standing in the corridor. I wait until a pair of trainers are leaving and duck in alongside them, keeping my head down and my stride smooth. Clove only notices me as I step into the elevator. She smirks and waits until the doors are starting to slide shut before elbowing Cato in the ribs. I pretend to be focused on my fingernails and firmly hit the button labeled '7'.

"Johanna," I murmur after I've finished telling her everything that happened over the course of the day, "This is as bad as I think it is, isn't it?" she doesn't answer, but the expression on her face is more than enough. I chew on the inside of my cheek anxiously and miserably let my head loll back against the chair, "What do I do?" I ask her hopelessly.

"For starters you do not lose your temper," she sighs, for once not sounding close to a spat of violent rage, "And you do your damned best to stay as far away from Cato as possible. Nothing's changed, you just aren't going to be forgotten by anybody in the Games. Outliers have an advantage because the Careers don't bother to remember them all. Only the ones they single out. I know you were hoping to be forgettable. Now just concentrate on not pissing them off and trying not to stand out anymore. With any luck they'll ask Eleven to join them and forget all about you."

"Maybe I should have dressed as a tree," I mutter, "Nobody bothers to look at trees."

"Cato certainly seems to think more with his dick than with his head," Johanna bluntly agrees, rolling her eyes and seeming not to notice the flush this brings to my cheeks.

"Pig," I mutter, "he keeps trying to control me. Do you think he's got some sort of twisted fetish about dominating people?"

"Probably. Males from Two, or should I say male tributes from Two often seem to be like that. They're often the 'leader' of the Pack. Alpha male and all that bullshit," Johanna snorts in signature contempt, "Mother of elm am I glad I wasn't born into a Career district!"

I nod my head grimacing at the thought. Then I consider what it'd have been like to be reaped and know someone will volunteer. For a moment it's appealing, the thought of someone taking my place. Then the guilt and nausea hits. I've always had a problem with the system that the Career districts employ. It just seems wrong to me. How do you select which kids you're going to brainwash into believing their sole purpose in life is to win the Hunger Games? It's sick and I'm disgusted with myself that for a moment I selfishly forgot my morals just because it was my life on the line. Just another reason why I won't join the Pack.  
Johanna appears to be doing her own thinking and we're silent for a while. Then all of a sudden she bolts upright,  
"If the alpha male really wants to claim you Thorns, then we should have a little fun," she smirks, "I bet he wouldn't be so demanding and arrogant with a raging hard on. All we have to do, is put him in his place."

I'm taken aback at first then a little intrigued, but mostly apprehensive about the devious expression on Johanna's face. She's gone before I can argue however, saying something about needing to talk to someone. I have a feeling I'm not going to like whatever she's planning, but then again, I'm a little desperate and a lot out of my depth. I'm dependent on Johanna and her advice if I want to survive and anything she has to offer, I'm willing to listen to. I've clearly proven that I myself can't be trusted not to make stupid-ass choices.

Johanna's plan becomes evident when she produces my training clothes for the day. Tight, tiny black shorts and a low cut, tight grey singlet with impractically small straps. None of the sports bras I've been given have smaller straps than the singlet, so I'm forced to wear one of the non-sports bras. Lucky me, all of them are lacy and about as practical and supportive as paper.  
"Johanna," I complain as I come into breakfast, "I'm actually going to flash somebody if I wear this!"

I uncross my arms and jump up and down a few times to demonstrate the uncomfortable bounce factor in my chest region. Johanna just laughs and throws a piece of toast at Linden, whose gone bright red and frozen again, "Golly," he mutters, focusing his eyes on his plate, "That doesn't look comfortable."

"It's not," I agree, my cheeks going red, "Can you please explain to me what you actually want me to do Johanna? Because so far you haven't given me much advice!"

"He's a teenage boy and you're a pretty girl that's caught his attention, what do you think I want you to do Thorns?" Johanna snipes, rolling her eyes, "Come on, you're Fletcher Aspen's sister! You must have some idea of what—"

"Yes," I cut her off, feeling my cheeks flush even darker, "But I don't exactly want him to be interested in me—"

"That's exactly what you want! You want to get in his head! You want him to be so busy lusting after you that he can barely think straight! You want him to be so interested in you, he'd rather kiss you than kill you—"

"That is not going to happen!" I exclaim loudly, "He's completely sadistic! He's been raised to do this, he's not going to be distracted by me! I'm not that pretty or that interesting! All this is going to do is make me look like a stupid slut."

"Nobody's going to think that—" Johanna dismisses with a wave of her hand, making Linden snort loudly.

"Actually, everyone thinks that—"

"—and you'd be surprised Thorns. I definitely think you can mess with him enough that it's worth it. And anyway, who cares what everyone thinks of you? At least you'll be alive! I thought you'd have learnt that by now Aspen!"This stings a very deeply buried part of me that still hasn't quite gotten over the fact my popularity, 'friends' and reputation were all destroyed in one night. It's the little girl with the wide innocent eyes who was too trusting and couldn't defend herself who still cares if people think I'm a nice person. That little girl would be butchered in the first minute of the Games. I force her down a little deeper and make a face at Johanna who takes this as assurance I'm listening and continues, "You're doing this!" she insists forcefully, "It's about surviving, right Thorns? Surviving as intact as possible. That's only going to be possible if you use all of this," she waved her hand at my body vaguely, "as a weapon - on your terms! You'll be in control and it'll give you a chance against him. It'll help you win!"

"What about Rose?" Linden jumps in hesitantly in the silence that follows as I digest her words.

"What?" Hillier demands loudly, "Speak up Fawley!"

"I said: what about Rose?" he asks in a stronger voice, "I mean, if she's putting in effort to flirt with him and seduce him, isn't it going to both ways? Won't it start messing with her head too?" I want to scoff at this, Cato is despicable, but something in Linden's expression makes me stop, he's not finished, "and besides, I'm sorry Rose," he hesitates and the continues, "but are you really… strong enough for this? Can you handle being this close to a guy like him and know that you're trying to make him think of you like that? Because you flinch away every time I come near you. You had to be restrained in the Prep Centre as soon as they started taking your clothes off. You can't even hug Anariel without freaking out. Wren Barclay obviously—"

"Stop!" I growl firmly and Linden immediately does so, "It was four years ago. I'll be in control of the situation like Johanna said… and," I pause and look down at the table, "Do you think Cato would force himself on me like that…?"

"He's from Two, Rosilda," Hillier speaks up, in a surprisingly gentle voice, "The things they do to the children in those Tribute Academies are unspeakable. Cato has been modelled for this, not just to be deadly, but to be a killer. He's been made into a monster, encouraged to give into his primal instincts and to go after what he wants with force. I wouldn't underestimate what he is capable of."

"You'll be in the Training Centre," Johanna points out, not shaken in the slightest though I definitely am, "There's cameras, twenty-two other tributes, trainers, Peacekeepers and Gamemakers. He can't do anything to you in front of all of those people. Just don't go wandering off and you'll be fine."

"You don't have to do this Rose," Linden speaks up, pity clear in his eyes as he bravely avoids looking at Johanna's scowl, "It's your choice."

"Decide quickly," Johanna rolls her eyes and drains her cup of coffee, "We need to be leaving."

I follow her to the elevator and sadly reflect I don't have time to change as I ponder the choice. We're halfway to the basement when I speak my thoughts for Linden and our mentors to hear, "I'm going to do my best to stay away from him, but I'll remember this angle if he corners me again. No promises though."  
Linden looks relieved and gives me a small nod and smile. It does make me feel better to think I have someone's approval and I smile slightly back at him. Despite my resolve to not get emotionally attached to him, we'd had a short conversation last night after dinner and though neither of us had apologised we were back on friendly terms. Just the shared pain of missing home brought us together and it's homesickness that I blame for making me tell him to call me Rose instead of my full name. I miss my family's shortening of my name and I've always liked the simplicity of Rose better than Rosilda, which is a bit of a mouthful.  
"Okay," Johanna doesn't sound happy, but she nods grudgingly, "Just do one thing for me."

"What?" I ask cautiously.

"Talk to some of the other tributes. Let him see that he's not special."

Johanna doesn't elaborate as the elevator doors open, but she gives me a hard look and I nod begrudgingly,

"I'll try."

"What?" Hillier demands.

"I said, I'll try!" I say more forcefully.

"Good girl!" Hillier praises me, giving me a pleased smile, "You look out for her now Fawley! District partners should always have each other's backs!"

"I had three Aspen brothers and two sisters come and make me promise the same thing, Hillier, I've got her back," Linden says to the older man with a smile.

We leave the elevator and out of politeness I wait until the doors have shut between our mentors and us to smack Linden's chest hard with my open palm, "You Pinecone-Head! What do you mean my siblings came to visit you?"

"They wanted to make sure I'd look out for you," he says blankly, as if it's no big deal, "And ow!"

"I can look after myself!" I argue, "What were they thinking? Dumping that one you! I bet Laina was the only one that didn't go. Am I right?"

"She's the oldest? With the little girl? No she was there. It was Laurel that wasn't and Rob said he was speaking for her too, but that she was too upset to come in—"

"They're ridiculous," I said despairingly, "I'm sorry, that wasn't their place! You shouldn't feel like you have to—"

"Are you kidding," he cuts me off, looking slightly offended, "I'm your district partner Rose! I was always going to have your back! No matter who you were or what your family had or hadn't said, I'd be keeping an eye out for the girl from home and I sure as hell wouldn't be gunning for her!"

"Yeah, same here, but they crossed a line. They shouldn't have—"

"Look, they care about you. It's fine and it's understandable that they're protective of you, more so than other families. I get it."

He's giving me the pitying sympathetic look again and I narrow my eyes at him, "First of all: stop interrupting me! And second: please stop with the references to the thing we've been doing so great at ignoring! Contrary to popular belief that's not what defines me, my actions or my relationship with my family. I'm more than one incident and just because I don't want to screw around with some asshole's emotions and hormones doesn't mean I'm somehow broken or need protecting or whatever. You'd better still be afraid of me Fawley, because I can and will kick your arse if you get anywhere close to being half as bad as Fletcher is with the protectiveness!"

"Yes ma'am," he replies with a gulp and apprehensively eyes the finger I realise I am menacingly pointing at him. I let it drop with a scowl and stalk towards our circle. Most of the tributes are already here today and we don't have to wait long before we're being let loose on the training centre. I've actually got a set plan of what I want to accomplish today so I head straight for the rope's course again. This time I want to see how fast I can actually do it. I speak a few words to the trainer, who almost rolls his eyes when he sees me, then set off. My arms twinge a few times, still unhappy about the session with the axe yesterday, but overall I speed through the course. I take shortcuts, taking more difficult, but more direct paths and push myself to the limit. By the time my feet hit the ground again I'm panting for breath and sweaty, but the trainer no longer looks condescending. Instead he looks impressed.

"Three minutes and fifty four seconds," he states, "That is a very good time. If you do just that the Gamemakers have to give you at least a six." I'm pleased with this knowledge and thank him, asking if there was any point in particular I lost time on. He makes a vague comment about my size letting me down on one of the bridges, but hurriedly adds that I weigh less than most of the tributes and he shouldn't compare a woman to a child anyway.

"What do you mean?" I ask, not taking offence in the slightest, which makes him deflate with relief.

The trainer presses his lips together, but then indicates towards the start line. My eyes lock in on the little girl from District Eleven and I make a noise of understanding, "I saw her yesterday," I say to the trainer, "She looks like she has wings on some of those bridges. You're right about how little she must weigh."

"At least she'll be hard to catch," the trainer whispers very quietly.

I nod sadly and watch her speed through the first half of the course. Her name, I recall, is Rue. I find myself hoping that she'll do well in the private sessions. I don't want her to be completely written off. I don't want her to die at all.  
I thank the trainer again and head off towards the snares. I want to practice the one I learnt yesterday and hopefully learn a few more to add to my repertoire. I'm not a hunter, so I'll be relying on snares to catch meat. The pair from District Twelve arrive after about an hour and the trainer gets caught up talking to the girl. She's extremely knowledgeable about the snares and even starts to comment on things she's caught a few times before catching herself. This intrigues me and I file it away to think on later. I also learn that the boy's name is Peeta and that while the girl, Katniss is awkward, quiet and surly, he easily makes polite conversation and even speaks to me a few times. He's got a charming smile and a likeable face and it would be easy to start talking to him. This unsettles me and I leave after a few minutes. I don't want to be friends with him.  
Cato has moved onto the spear throwing station today and I'm a little annoyed by this because I was hoping to try and learn how to do that. I'm not about to go over and join him though, so I skip this in my schedule and go back to the fire building station to try and improve on yesterday's disaster. I've almost got my wood to catch, when a nearby shout catches my attention. The knives station is the next one over and I'm startled to see that Cato has moved onto there. He's cursing loudly and making a mess, apparently searching for his knife. I roll my eyes and look back at my fire, when suddenly I notice the boy from Six also at the station.  
That's not going to end well.  
If he's smart the boy will silently leave. He's young, maybe only thirteen or fourteen and slight. Compared to Cato's hulking size he's tiny. Clearly the boy isn't very smart, because he doesn't leave and within moments Cato has predictably turned his anger on him. I'm standing up and moving closer before I can help myself. There's nothing I hate more than bullies who take advantage of those weaker than them. I look around to see if the trainers or Peacekeepers are going to do something, they haven't moved because so far Cato hasn't completely lost his temper. As far as I'm concerned the idiot probably misplaced his own knife, but surely Six will back down, apologise and walk away. He doesn't and I think he's trying to tell Cato there's plenty of other knives. It's true, but it only makes Cato furious.  
Still nobody is doing anything. I glance around the room, looking up towards the Gamemakers, who are all watching very closely, then my eyes lock on a little girl balanced on a beam beside the climbing station. She's got a long knife clutched in her hands and a smirk on her face as she watches Cato lose his temper and advance on Six. The sight of it chills my blood. I don't want Cato to turn on this little girl. I don't want him to realise it was Rue and target her. It also sickens me that Two is going completely mental, taking all his anger out on an innocent, vulnerable and helpless boy who did nothing wrong. It makes me nauseous to know that everybody else is aware of this, but that nobody is doing anything to intervene on the boy's behalf.  
I'm walking before I know what I'm doing. I dart behind the dummies, moving quickly and as unobtrusively as possible to where Rue is perched. Her gaze is fixed on Cato and the other boy and she looks incredibly amused by Cato's loss of control. I give a low whistle to catch her attention and reach out a hand for the knife. She looks shocked that I've seen her, but then she smiles and nods, quick intelligence in her eye as she carefully drops the knife to the ground in front of me. I smirk at her as I scoop it up and hurry back to where Two is still working himself up into a rage. Just seeing how he's acting makes me angry enough that I act before fully thinking through my actions. My brain only catches up with my actions as I'm pulling Six away by his arm and sliding into the space between the two male tributes. Cato looks incredibly shocked for a moment and Six gasps, also staring at me with wide eyes.  
"Do you get off on this?" I loudly demand of the furious idiot in front of me, "Taking your anger out on someone smaller than you? Go back to decapitating dummies if you need to sort out your temper! Don't ever start taking advantage of someone who is scared, smaller and weaker than you!" I'm working myself up into a fury now and I don't see Cato in front of me, my vision is blurred with red and my fists are clenched. I'm so angry I might be spitting in his face. This is something that I feel very strongly about and I wish there had been someone brave enough to stick up for me when I was the small, weak and scared person being completely broken and taken advantage of by a boy like Cato, "Do you understand me?" I hiss at him, physically trying to push him back to stop his intent desire to get a hold of Six, "Take a fucking breath and back off! He didn't take your knife!"

"Get out of my face Seven!" Cato roars at me, shaking with anger and trying to push passed me. I grab his right arm at the pressure point and squeeze tightly. He's too strong for me to hold him, but the yell of pain he gives as I tighten my grip on the nerve point in his bicep, prevents him from being able to free himself for a moment and I press close to him to hiss in his face.

"He didn't take your knife! In fact," I tauntingly wave the knife in front of his face, "I did! And I'm only going to give it back if you calm the fuck down and apologise for being such so incredibly rude! You moronic arse-hat!" Cato finally turns his attention from the boy cowering behind me to me. For a few moments longer I manage to hold him, but then he breaks free and next thing I know it's me that he's trying to snatch at, "Get a grip!" I yell at him, whilst dodging out of his way, "You're making a complete fool of yourself! Even more so than usual!"

"You do not get to tell me what to do Seven," he yells into my face, "You're nothing! You'll be the first person I come after and I'll make you pay for this! Worthless bitch!"

It's the insult that makes me snap, instead of dodging his next attempt to grab me I lunge at him with a cry and punch him fairly hard, square in the jaw, "You're an arrogant, cowardly arse!" I spit at him and fling the knife down as hard as I can at the ground beside his foot, "Pick on somebody your own size and get a fucking hold of yourself, you raging maniac!"Cato actually stops, he's breathing heavily, but there's a blank expression on his face and he's staring at me like I've grown an extra head. I give a snort of contempt and turn on my heel. A Peacekeeper tries to take my arm, but I growl and shake him off, "I'm fine," I snap, "I'm not going to kill someone! It would be nice if you picked your moments to intervene a little better!"

"It's a television show, Aspen! Everybody wants to see the big bad Career taken down by the prostitute!"

I tense at Glimmer's words and almost stop walking away, but then Linden is at my side. I flinch away from the hand that he reaches for my shoulder, but let him lower his head so he can whisper, "Don't say anything. She doesn't know anything. Just walk away. Come on Rose, how about that tree climbing competition?"

"I thought you said I'd kick your arse," I mumble, anxiously chewing on the inside of my cheek.

"You will," he shrugs, "I don't have a superiority complex or need to prove I'm some sort of dominant idiot–"

"I think you mean alpha male," I say in a conspiring voice, "Johanna's convinced that's what he is."

Linden pulls a face, "You two are so weird."

"We're both psycho," I remind him with a small smile, "And I'm the only person that yells back at her. What more do you need in an unlikely friendship between the mentor and the girl marked for death?" I become serious as I say, "You should go. I just put myself at the top of his kill list." The realisation hits and I swallow thickly, "yup, he's definitely going to kill me."

"Maybe Johanna's plan wasn't such a bad idea," Linden mumbles, his eyes on his shoes, "She's going to be furious when you tell her what happened. I'd worry about her killing you."

I scowl and pull away from him, because like always: he's right, and like always: I don't want to hear it, "You should stay away from me, Linden. I'll talk to you tonight."

"Rose!" he hisses as I move away, "Rose! Rosilda!"

I ignore him and he doesn't follow me as I make my way back over to the fire building station. There's two other tributes there now. The girl from Five and the boy from Nine. Nine takes one look at me and leaves, but the girl from Five's eyes light up when she sees me. I nod in acknowledgment of her and crouch back down by my fire with a weary sigh. Of course I'd somehow managed to knock it when I stood up, so I'd have to start mostly from scratch. Muttering a few swear words under my breath, I get started. The trainer comes over and sloshes some water on my wood without saying a word to me.  
"Fan-fucking-tastic," I mumble, shooting a furious glare at his back. Now my wood is dripping wet, not just a little damp! _Thanks a lot_!

"That was rather interesting."

I look over at the redhead girl and recall that her name is Brinna. She's got slanted, fox-like amber eyes and they're filled with amusement as she watches me fumble with my wood. Her voice is quiet and drawling, as if she wants to make you hang onto her words, "What a loathsome person," I growl, "I might actually be happy when he dies."

"It would certainly make for better odds," she replies calmly, "And if someone was looking at me like he looks at you, I'd be hoping he died too."

Another face flashes to mind and I feel my expression harden to one of hatred, "I hate him for noticing me. Right from the very beginning he singled me out and now everyone has noticed me, thanks to him at lunch yesterday and now my stupidity!"

"You certainly have everyone's attention," she agrees with a sly smile, "But that means the Capitol will want you to live. That means you'll have sponsors. So long as you can back up your talk, you're not going to do too badly. I saw you on the rope's course. If you don't want him to catch you, I doubt he'll be able to. Still, you do seem to be rather reckless. You could have let that boy take it. He's nothing to you."

I don't nod, but instead give her a curious glance, "If you know how to play the sponsors, why are you trying so hard to hide? I'm the first person you've spoken to, yesterday you left a station as soon as another person got to it. I thought if anyone, you'd be speaking to the Girl on Fire."

Her lips curl up again and she studies me for a moment, "You're observant," she notes, then glances up to the middle of the ceiling at my vantage point, "So am I. You like a bird's-eye view? I suppose you're used to being up trees."

"There are a lot of trees in Seven," I smile slightly at her.

"Not many in Five," she frowns slightly, "a few poplars and some scraggly bushes… but also a lot of concrete."

"This probably isn't quite so much of a shock to you then," I wave my hand to encompass the room with a distasteful frown.

She makes a noise of agreement, then hesitates, gazing at me critically for a moment before speaking, "So if you're already standing out so well, why would you want to hide up there?" she nods back up to the roof.

I contemplate her for a moment as I think about how to answer. I could say it's because I don't want to stand out, but she's right about it being a bit late for that now. "I find it helps with perspective," I say slowly, "I mean what are these Games in the long run, really? Not much to anyone besides those in charge, the twenty-four of us and anyone unlucky enough to care about us," I give a humourless laugh and then add with slightly more friendliness, "It's Brinna, isn't it?"

"Yes, and you're Rosilda. How are you liking training? They seem to like showing off as much of your skin as possible," she notes, watching for my reaction intently.

I grimace and glance down at my singlet to see that it has slipped an is exposing the top of my black lacy bra. Pulling it up with a scowl, I mutter, "I'm more of a comfort and practical person when it comes to clothes. Doing the rope's course hurt."

Brinna lets out a surprised laughs and for a moment the calculating look in her eyes vanishes, "I think Cato likes it and the shorts. In fact you're distracting a lot of the room."

"Lovely," I mutter, "I'm beginning to wish I pulled a Johanna Mason instead of letting her talk me into wearing these sorts of stupid clothes."

Brinna smirks and moves closer to me to help me rebuild my fire. Her hands fly with ease and I once again recall how quickly she picked up the skill. "You wouldn't convince anyone," she tells me, "You're already too practiced at putting on a tough mask. You're too good at coming across as uncaring, intimidating and confident to be able to keep up an act of weakness." She takes the piece of wood I'm holding from my hands and adds it to the stack, then reaches for my flint. I'm too busy staring at her to watch as she lights the fire, but the whoosh of heat tells me that it's caught. "And," she adds, sitting back on her heels, "You're too proud. It was nice talking to you Rosilda. Perhaps we shall speak again later. I think you and I could be of use to each other."  
I watch as she gets to her feet and darts off in the direction of the edible plants station, then look back down at the fire she easily set. I'm intrigued by this red-head girl and I'm also convinced that I was right in naming her in my top five. I stand up and wander over to the climbing station. I'm lost in thought and don't notice until I'm only a few metres away that the trainer is talking to Rue. I hesitate then approach. The trainer greets me with a nod and a smile and the girl from Eleven gives me a shy smile too.

"You should be careful," I tell her quietly, "You're lucky he didn't see you with his knife." She looks surprised for a moment then the smile reappears, it's wider now. I return it and wink at her then turn to the trainer, "Let's see if I can knock off those four seconds and make it an even three fifty."

He gives me a small smile in return, before clearing his face and nodding impassively. It must be some sort of rule that they can't act like human beings with the tributes, "When you're ready then District Seven."

I take a slow, deep breath and shake out my arms, then I'm off. I don't need another episode with the axe, but hopefully another form of physical exertion will help work off the residual emotions. I push hard, focusing completely on the task at hand and opt for jumping from the end rope rather than wasting time climbing down half the ladder as I did that morning. I take the force on my shoulder, but roll with practiced ease. You can't climb trees for a living, if you don't know how to fall.  
"Time?" I gasp, pushing to my feet and looking expectantly at the trainer.

He blinks and then shows me his stop watch. Rue peers over his arm and smiles when she sees it,  
"Three forty nine," she says quietly, "Good job Rosilda."

"Thank you Rue," I smile at her, then give the trainer a triumphant smirk, "What would that get me? Still a six or am I pushing seven?"

The trainer's mouth twitches, "Depends what they're looking for."

"Ah, cop out," I shake my head with a small smile and glance towards the Gamemakers, "Guess we'll have to wait and see. They seem to really like Two this year. I'm glad there's some people brave enough to challenge them," I smile at Rue, who straightens her shoulders, "it was very impressive and I'm glad someone's messing with his head."

"She's not the only one Miss District Seven," the trainer murmurs, glancing at me, his lips twitching slightly again, "I don't think he's used to girls punching him."

"You were really brave," Rue jumps in, brown eyes flicking up to meet mine for a moment, "I wish I was that brave."

"You're plenty brave all on your own," I argue, "There's no way I would have stolen Cato's knife when I was twelve. I'd probably be off hiding in a corner right now," I add with a smile, "Anybody who's standing here and who is still fighting to learn everything they can to survive, is brave. You're doing more than that and if you ask me, that's pretty impressive." She grins at me happily and goes to say something when lunch is suddenly announced, "How about we grab some food?" I suggest after a moment, when her smile fades and she looks down at her shoes. Before Rue can respond, I'm alerted to someone's approach and stiffen as I twist to see who it is. My guard doesn't lessen when I see that it's Rue's district partner, Thresh. I've had him air marked as a threat since the beginning and after seeing him acting so friendly with Cato yesterday afternoon, I don't trust him one bit. His face is stony as he moves to Rue's side, angling his body almost protectively as he keeps his dark eyes firmly locked on me. "Thresh," I acknowledge, my voice emotionless as my own careful mask returns to my face.

He doesn't respond in kind, instead his eyes narrow further, "You're marked Seven," he says, his voice rough.

I tense, immediately wondering if he's joined the Careers and this is him warning me that they are actually gunning for me, but then his eyes shift to Rue. My eyes once again register his protective stance and notice the concern that he looks at his district partner with and I at once understand. My stomach churns unpleasantly as I look over at Rue, her big brown eyes are filled with curiosity and a little confusion. They're so innocent. "I understand," I manage to get out, forcing my eyes back to Thresh and nodding once, "I'll stay away."

A little relief crosses his face as I take a step back and his posture relaxes slightly as he gives me an answering nod. I don't look at Rue or the trainer as I turn my back on them and walk with my head held high towards the lunch room. I don't want anyone to see how hard I'm working to hold myself together. In three words a boy I'd never spoken to had told me that by talking to an innocent little girl, by eating lunch with her, I'd be marking her for death. He'd warned me that anyone I appeared close to would gain the attention of the Careers and he'd also just reminded me that my temper and head-strong nature had finally gotten me into a situation that I wasn't sure I'd be able to fix.

I was marked for death.

 **Thanks for all the support everyone! And a special thank you to Meiaideas12 and Kristen in Wonderland! I'd love to hear what you all think of this chapter. I think most of you will be able to guess some of why Rose is the way she is, and what exactly happened with Wren Barclay four years ago. I want to make a point that, as Rosilda herself said: this doesn't define her character, but it does explain a lot about why she's constantly projecting to be tougher than she is and why she's almost always on guard. More will be revealed in latter chapters obviously, but it'd be great to know I'm not confusing people!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I have never used a spear, nor do I have any idea how to throw one. I have thrown a javelin during school athletics so I went off that and some research to come up with the scene in this chapter. It's the best I could, but I don't recommend taking it as a guide on how to throw a spear! :P**

 *** Chapter Seven ***

I keep my head down through lunch, only picking at my food until it is time for us to move back into the training centre. Linden tries to get my attention at one point, but I purposefully move away from him. A horrible feeling is gnawing at my stomach and I can't bring myself to look anyone in the eye. It sickens me that I didn't even think twice; I suggested Rue and I get lunch without any thought of what that actually meant. After snubbing the Careers' offer to sit with them, sitting with the little girl would not only draw attention to her, but it would also paint a massive target on her back. If Thresh hadn't stepped in, my mistake would likely have cost her her life.  
I veer away from the rope's course where I had planned on climbing up to the top of the roof as I realise that the last thing I want is to be alone with my thoughts. The tributes in the room seem of greater number than usual and they seem to be taking up a lot more room than they have previously. Everywhere I look there is someone. All the survival stations have at least one person at them, even the tree climbing and hammock building, which as far as I'm concerned are complete wastes of time. Glimmer is practicing her archery, the girl from Four and Clove are at the knives station, Marvel is lifting weights, Cato is back working with his huge sword and Four's male tribute is trying out hand-to-hand combat.  
My eyes linger on the axes, as I wistfully think about my family back home. I'd give anything to be able to hear one of Fletcher's lame jokes, to have him wrap me in one of his hugs or for him to insist on a fighting bout to reassure himself I could defend myself. I never thought I'd miss Laurel's babble or her waking me up in the middle of the night with her restless sleep. Kicking and blanket stealing were all common features, but we also had the odd random conversation where she'd purposefully wake me, because she was worried or wanted to know my thoughts on something. I missed hearing Laina tell me stories about Willow's antics and hearing my niece tell me about her day. I wanted to silently sit beside Robin in one of the huge pines, looking out over the forest, up at the stars or watching the sun rise or set. I missed seeing Tillia's almost permanent happy smile as she worked out the details of her wedding day or seeing the dreamy look in her eyes as she got lost in thoughts that I probably didn't want to know too much about. Hell, I even missed Glen's whining about his wife's mood swings and seeing the nervous anticipation grow in his eyes everyday as the due date of the baby got closer. And of course there was my parents. Dad's weary, crooked smile as he kissed my mother's cheek after a long day's work. The light shining beneath our bedroom door in the middle of the night that told me Mum had gotten up to sew. Tripping over Dad's work boots and always finding Mum's tea cup in the strangest places.  
I missed the crisp, clean scent of pine, the musky smell of rain on dirt and the wind and sun on my skin. I hated being confined inside all day, I hated the artificial lighting and the concrete walls. All I wanted was to be sitting on the forest floor, my parents smiling at Glen fussing over Felicity, Fletcher flicking pine needles at Tilia and teasing her about her fiancé, Laurel chasing Willow around the trees as Rob and Laina watch on with matching exasperatedly amused expressions and all of us together, safe and happy.  
With a deep breath I tear my eyes away from the axes and set my jaw. I don't have time for homesickness. My gaze lands on the spear station and I swallow, before determinedly making my way over. I need something to take my mind off the fact that I might never see any of my family again. I need something to distract me from the nausea churning away in my stomach. If I want to survive the Games I also need to make sure that I can use some of the more traditional weapons of the Capitol. Axes aren't nearly as common as spears, knives and swords. I can already passably use a knife and I don't have time to learn anything about swords, considering they take years to master. That leaves spears. It would be good to be able to have a long range weapon and throwing a spear is supposed to be easier than throwing knives. Considering both are completely different movements to axe throwing, I'm ready to make an absolute fool of myself and I'm a little annoyed I haven't been to visit the station until now.  
I spend a good ten minutes talking to the trainer and having him explain and demonstrate the movement before I even pick up one of the weapons. I'm honest with him, telling him that I can use and throw an axe reasonably well for my size and strength, but that while I'm very good at hand-to-hand combat both with and without a knife, I've never been able to master the art of throwing one. Despite my attempts to prepare the trainer for how bad I'm going to be, the moment I make my first throw his mouth thins and he seems to be suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.  
I actually hadn't thought it was that bad. I threw to the distance of the furtherest target, it was just my aim that needed work with the spear impaling a few metres to the left of the human sized target.

"So?" I question, planting my hands on my hips and waiting for some sort of feedback that could help me improve my aim, "What should I do?"

The trainer's lip curls mockingly, "Go back to your dresses and pretty smiles."

Before I can do more than narrow my eyes a very tall figure steps up beside me, "Say that again," Cato growls menacingly, "And I'll mess your face up so badly, your own mother wouldn't recognise you!"

The blood drains from the trainer's face, but he firmly holds his ground, his lips pressed tightly together. Cato makes a small noise of disgust and reaches passed him to aggressively grab another spear. I lift a single eyebrow, my body tense and my weight balanced evenly so I'm ready for whatever he does next. I'm expecting the aggression to turn to me or for another bout of angry, insulting conversation, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of running away with my tail between my legs. Instead, Cato surprises me. He offers me the spear as he grabs a slightly larger one for himself. I accept it hesitantly, not once taking my eyes off him and I carefully search for a sign that he's going to attack. Instead, he gets into the position that the trainer briefly demonstrated and lifts the spear.  
"Firstly, it's about the movement of your weight," he says, without looking at me, "You're used to throwing all of your body weight behind a throw, but this isn't an axe. Instead of the movement coming from your waist and knees, it needs to come from your hips and shoulders. It should be a twist of your hips, not a bend at the waist." I watch silently as he demonstrates the difference a few times. "Second, you're not trying to throw a spear dead straight. You don't want it to flip like you want an axe to, it won't. The head is heavy, so it pulls down at the front, which means you have to aim up. You do that by dropping your shoulder." Again he demonstrates and I can't help but admire the way his muscles ripple and bulge as he moves and the quiet, clear voice he uses as he explains in a way that doesn't make me feel stupid. When he speaks again, I quickly drag my eyes away from his biceps back to his face, but he's still not looking at me so doesn't notice, "And thirdly, you shouldn't be staring at the bull's-eye as you make the throw. You should be visualising the entire path that you want the spear to take, which means you look up as you release and then let your chin drop as your arm follows through. You track the path it'll take with your eyes as you step up to the mark and then you track that exact same path as you make the throw, except this time, the spear will be real. Lastly, you have to remember to breathe. Breathe in as you lift your arm and exhale as you throw."  
He does exactly what he's just said, taking a deep breath in and then exhaling as he does a textbook - at least according to what he's just told me - perfect throw. I'm not surprised when it slams into the dead centre of the furtherest bull's-eye, but I am very impressed by the sheer power behind the throw. Deadly accurate, with deadly weight behind the spear. Had the throw hit a person, they'd have been dead on impact.  
Instead of commenting on the throw, I take up position and while he is still admiring his bull's-eye, I practice the motion once, do my best to visualise and then take a deep breath and try to replicate what he did. My spear flies a lot better than before and there is something oddly satisfying about the perfect balance at which the spear stops arching upwards and starts driving back down. Again, I make the distance with the spear hitting with good impact and it's a lot more accurate than my first attempt. It hits the empty space of the target board several inches from the left shoulder. I allow myself a small smile, then glance sidelong at Cato to see his reaction. I'm still on my guard and my heart is hammering, but with the absence of the intense stare I feel much more in control of my physical reactions to him. I'm tense and on guard, but I'm not afraid.  
He nods slowly, his lips twitching as though he's suppressing a smile and wordlessly hands me another spear. As I lift it to throw, he clears his throat. I tense and look over at him cautiously. He takes a small step towards me and our eyes lock together.  
"May I?" he asks very, very quietly, slowly reaching towards me. The furtive glance he gives over my shoulder, tells me that he's desperately hoping nobody has heard him ask my permission. For what I'm not sure for a moment, but as he takes another step closer, I realise what he's asking. It seems that he has been listening when I've told him I don't like being touched. Which isn't entirely true. I used to be the sort of person that loved giving and receiving hugs. I used to crave physical contact and my older sisters were fond of telling me that I had no respect for people's personal space when I was a kid. Apparently I used to 'lean' on them a lot. Even now, after I learnt exactly how horrible invasions of personal space could be and have a minor panic attack every time someone touches me when I'm not expecting it, I love receiving hugs from my family. I personally think it stems from being the closest in age to Fletcher, who growing up was always jumping on me, throwing his arm over my shoulders and nudging me about some immature comment he had to make. Even now he was still fond of doing all three things.  
Cato is not my brother however. I don't know why he's doing this, I don't even recognise the person in front of me. The only time he's smirked the whole time he's been there, is when he successfully pulled off his shot. He hasn't leered at my body, he hasn't even made any smart arse comments. Besides the angry snap at the trainer - which I had been about to do myself anyway - he hadn't scowled or lost his temper. In fact, had this been my first interaction with him, I would probably have been extremely impressed by how clearly and efficiently he described what he wanted me to do. I would have been touched by the kindness and patience he was showing and definitely have been extremely happy about the respect shown in asking my permission before touching me. The problem is, this isn't the first time I've interacted with him and every other time he's been an arrogant, violent and controlling monster.  
I hesitate a long moment and seeing this Cato slowly retracts his hands, holding my gaze steadily as I search his face for some sort of hidden motive. It's this patience and the fact he actually waits for me to say yes that makes me decide. Probably a decision I'll regret. With a deep breath to prepare myself, I nod once. My pulse starts hammering the moment he closes the distance between us and slowly sets his hands on my body. He's standing close enough that I can feel his presence behind me, but the hand he places on my hip and on top of the hand holding the spear are incredibly light and gentle. A tremor goes through my entire body as I try to stop my instinctual reaction to spring away from him. I lift my chin and swallow thickly.

"Loosen your grip, slightly," Cato murmurs, his hand tapping on my fingers which are clenched in a death grip on the spear. I can feel his breath on the side of my neck and it only makes me want to tense up even more. Perhaps Cato senses this, because he removes his hand from my hip and steps into my line of vision. Being able to see him does do a little to settle my panic and I release a tight breath between clenched teeth.  
"Remember to breathe," he advises, though there is an unusual look in his eyes as he studies me, "The motion will become more natural the more you do it. Just let me help you through it a few times and then you can try again by yourself." He doesn't move until I nod again, upon which he returns to his position behind me. Determined that I'm not going to tip him off more than I already have about how panicked I am, I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, letting him twist my hips and guide my arm through the movement. He's murmuring directions as he does so, but I let them wash over me, focusing on the movement so I don't have to think about his warm hands on my bare skin and the last time a boy touched my hips. "Are you ready?" he asks, his thumb shifting minutely against my hip bone.

"Yes," I breathe out.

"Okay, visualise the path you want the spear to take," he's silent for a moment and I open my eyes to do as he says, seeing the slight arch and the hit it's going to make directly into the target's chest, "Now breathe in…" I suck in a deep lungful of air and both feel and hear him do the same as he adjusts his position slightly, his chest touching my back. "And throw," he exhales, his body moving in time with mine as step forward and move arm, shoulder and hips, before releasing the spear. He moves with me, his body is pressed flush against my back, but his touch on my hand holding the spear is very light, simply guiding my own movements, rather than aiding the actual throw. He holds his position until a moment after the spear hits the target. This time it is only a couple of inches left of the bull's-eye. Still within the rings of the target. A genuine smile crosses my face as my arm and shoulders relax down. I unconsciously press back into Cato as I relax and I hear him draw in a sharp breath, before he murmurs a single word of approval. "Good. Now let's do it again."

By the time Cato has walked me through at least ten more shots where he's a presence against my back, shadowing my movements we are consistently hitting the inner circle of the bulls-eye. I have relaxed enough about the danger of the boy behind me, that I am becoming much more aware of his presence in a different sense. He seems to brush against my entire back, from the side of my neck, down to my thighs and calves. He's more confident about touching me now too and when we manage to get a direct bulls-eye for the second time, his hands settle on my hips and he leans in over my shoulder to say, "You're a fast learner. Well done."

It's the most approval I've received and it makes me smile, but still I step away from him. For the first time since he appeared I turn to face him directly, "You're a good teacher," I shoot back in the same tone, studying his expression, which as far as I can tell is simple approval and happiness, with a small amount of pride, "Should I try by myself now?"

It's a small test and I'm prepared for an annoyed, demeaning action, but instead Cato gives me a small smile and hands me a spear. He steps up alongside me and crosses his arms to watch. I take a moment to visualise, then breathe in and move through the motion. As Cato promised, it's becoming natural and seems almost ingrained into my memory. I can almost feel his hands guiding me through the movement. The throw makes a direct hit just within the outer ring of the target. Cato hands me another spear and I repeat the process. This time I aim for the smaller target on the 'head' and manage to once again hit the outside ring.

"Visualise," Cato advises as he hands me the third spear.

I take a few deep breaths and do as he says, once again aiming for the chest, then I release. This time I hit the innermost ring of the target, separated by barely an inch from the bull's-eye. I grin and turn to Cato, arching an eyebrow at him, "What do you know, there is something other than rubbish that can come out of your mouth. I must say, I'm surprised," I tease, with a playful smile.

"I'm full of surprises," Cato promises me with a smirk.

I laugh slightly, because it's not the typical arrogant smirk, it's an almost gleeful one and it makes him look a little less like a stone statue and more like a mischievous little boy.

"So am I," I smirk back.

I'm rewarded with a genuine, rumbling laugh that lights up his whole face and makes his eyes gleam. It's the same laugh I heard from him when he was speaking to Thresh the day before. He looks alive, and it sends a shiver down my spine as a laugh bubbles from my throat too. A carefree, happy, glowing laugh of someone enjoying life, of someone having fun. It's the first time I've laughed like that since the Reaping.

"It's official," Linden hisses to me as we ride the elevator back up to the seventh floor after training, "You are completely insane! I don't even want to think about what Johanna is going to say! Golly Rose, how are you possibly going to explain today's training to her?"

"I'm sure I'll figure it out," I say with a small hint of exasperation.

"I mean, crikey! You punched a Career in the face and then took spear throwing lessons from the same–"

"I know Butcher-Boy," there's more irritation in my voice now, but Linden's on a roll and doesn't notice.

"-monster that you'd just completely chewed out! You even let him touch you! You don't let me anywhere near you most of the time and you let Cato touch you for ages! Holy cow Rosilda! You're completely psycho! Very brave, don't get me wrong! But also completely–"

"ASPEN!"

The elevator doors have just opened and the moment they do a furious looking Johanna Mason is storming towards us. She seizes some sort of decorative plate off the wall and throws it violently at my head with a yell that it filled with rage. Linden squeaks as we both duck hurriedly and wince at the sheer volume of Johanna's voice as she starts screaming at me. "What part of don't lose your bloody temper did you not understand? I had to have a meeting with Seneca Crane about you Aspen! Never, not in all the years Hillier's been mentoring this fiasco has District Seven ever been called to the Game Makers office like children! You better have a damn good explanation for this! I might as well give up on you now! You just killed yourself, you moronic cow! He's going to cut you into pieces and fry you up over a bloody bonfire! And you know what? I want to do the same! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

"Johanna! Do you have to yell quite so loud!" Hillier demands hobbling into view, "District Two can probably hear you!"

"Actually, I don't think it's as bad as you think-"

"NOT AS BAD AS I THINK? YOU PUNCHED A CAREER-"

"Yes, but-"

"You're even more reckless and stupid than your goddamn brother! How could y–"

"SHUT UP AND LISTEN FOR ONCE MASON!" I roar back at her, taking a step forward and refusing to back down under her absolutely murderous glare, "Yes I punched him! He deserved it! But he just spent all afternoon teaching me how to use a spear!"

"He did," Linden pipes up nervously, "And I overheard him threatening Marvel."

"You what?" I demand, looking over my shoulder at him incredulously, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Linden glances anxiously at our mentors before answering, "Because the reason Cato was threatening him, was because he said some incredibly crude things about what he would like to do to you and Cato's response was even more disturbingly graphic. If his district partner hadn't stopped him, I think he would have attacked One over it."

"Did he say anything…" I hesitate, "Did he say anything about me when he did it? Maybe he was just annoyed at Marvel going on and on…"

Before I've even finished talking, Linden is firmly shaking his head, "He said that if Marvel even looked at you in that way again, he would shove his body so far up his arse that Marvel would be fucking himself."

"And this was after you punched him?" Johanna asks harshly.

Linden uncomfortably string of swear words that comes out of Johanna's mouth is both filthy and educational as most I have never heard of. Unfortunately at this moment Anariel appears. She's in a completely different outfit than she was when we left this morning, something I've noticed is a bit of a pattern, and looks rather apprehensive as she slowly approaches, probably having heard the yelling.

"Is everything okay?" she asks tentatively, peering out from behind her fringe like it's a shield.

I wince as Johanna turns around and absolutely rips into the escort, for what has to be the twentieth time since we arrived in the Capitol. I can't help but feel sorry for the red-head woman. She's young and has been nothing but nice to me and Linden. She doesn't talk about the Games, blab on about Capitol news or try and convince any of us that we should be excited. She's firmly supportive of Linden and I, never hesitating to give a quiet word of encouragement and does her best to offer as much information as she can about the things we need to or want to know about. As best as I can tell, Johanna takes her anger out on Anariel, because the Capitol woman is most definitely an easy target. It makes my hackles rise every time she does it.

"Johanna!" I snap, "Leave Anariel alone! She hasn't done anything wrong, if you want to yell at someone, yell at me or go and find Cato and yell at him! Don't we need to talk a bit more about what happened and what I should try and focus on tomorrow? I have no idea what I'm going to do for my private session and some advice would be much appreciated!"

For a moment it looks like Johanna is going to go back to chewing me out, but then she releases an angry grunt and nods irritably, "Come on then Thorns! Let's try and save your sorry arse!"

I spend the next morning practicing my spear throws for a good hour and having another oddly friendly conversation with Cato as he stops by to "check on my form". He nods his head in approval and tells me the Gamemakers will be impressed with me, then swaggers off with a small smile. Either I knocked some sense into him when I punched him or some part of his persona is a complex strategy that I can't begin to wrap my head around. Either way, he's giving me premature grey hairs. When I'm content that I'm getting more bull's-eyes than I'm missing, I retire up to the top of the roof to relax and watch the other tributes. I want to make sure that I'm not completely shocked by any scores that might be received. I stand by my first assessments of who my largest competition is, but I have also been paying a fair bit of attention to the boy from Twelve this morning. His name is Peeta and I'm beginning to suspect an at least decent score from him. As for his district partner. The more I watch her, the more nervous she makes me. She's very good at not drawing attention to herself, but she's definitely the one to watch.  
I've just turned my attention to Brinna, who has bravely decided to visit the edible insects station, when something makes me turn my attention sideways. I nearly have a heart attack and fall off the beam, plummeting to the training centre floor when I see that the little girl from Eleven has found my spot and is agilely walking along the beam towards me. When she sees that I've spotted her, she pauses and gives a small wave, looking hesitant to continue. I spare a moment to reason that nobody ever looks up anyway and smile, beckoning her over.

"Hello Rue," I say softly as she carefully crouches to straddle the beam next to me, "Fancy seeing you here."

She giggles slightly, "It's just too easy. How are we supposed to resist moving into the roof, when it's so easy to get to?"

It's not easy to get to and I'm not sure any of the other tributes would even have the head for heights and balance required to get here, even if they had the physical ability, but I just laugh and nod in agreement, "It's just too tempting, isn't it?"

Nodding eagerly she shyly asks me if I climb lots of trees at home. I briefly explain that my job requires me to climb the tree that we're planning on felling to place the lead anchors that are used to set up safety lines for the loggers to use when they climb to cut branches off the main trunk, before it is brought down. In turn Rue begins to tell me about how she climbs to the top of the trees in the orchards in Eleven. She mentions something about younger siblings and I pounce on it, getting her to tell me about her life at home. She's very interested in my own family, especially in hearing stories about Willow and about Tilia's wedding. I explain that the wedding will be very simple, but that because Mum and Laina are so good with their needles and fabric, the dresses are the thing that Tilia is focusing on, because she knows it's achievable.

"I wore my bridesmaids dress to the Reaping," I admit, when she asks what my dress looks like, "But you probably don't remember it."

"No! I do! I remember it because I thought it was really pretty! I really liked the colour."

"Me too," I smile, "But I bet you'll get to wear a dress that is even more pretty for the interviews."

Rue's eyes light up and she nods eagerly, clearly very excited at the thought. She asks a few more questions about the wedding and then gets to a question that she's obviously very excited to hear the answer to, "What about the music? What music will you have?"

She seems so excited that I feel extremely guilty about not knowing the answer to her question. To be honest, I'm not sure Tilia has even thought about music and that's saying something considering that when she's not working or sleeping, she's planning her wedding. "What sort of music would you have if it was your wedding?" I ask Rue.

She thinks for a moment, "I'd like my siblings to sing for me," she says, "But I love all music, so I'd have lots and lots of it. Weddings are a good place for music, because people are so happy and you can use music to help everyone else understand how happy you are!"

I laugh slightly, her excitement making it impossible for me to not be happy. It amazes me that despite the situation she is in, Rue is able to keep smiling and laughing. She can still talk about what she wants as if it might happen and she hasn't let fear dull her love of life. It gives me hope that there's still some brightness left in the world.

"You're not going to flash the Gamemakers, are you?" Brinna murmurs to me after her district partner is called in for the private sessions.

I scoff and shoot her a sideways glance, "I'd rather they give me a zero than have to stoop so low."

She smirks and I can see that she's teasing me, rather than being serious as she innocently shrugs, "Just after that display at the spear's station yesterday, I wasn't sure what angle you were playing anymore."

Snorting I shake my head at her and sourly think about my conversations with my mentor, "Not the one I wanted to play, that's for sure."

Brinna just smirks, her eyes alight with intelligent amusement, "I'd tell you good luck, but I don't think you need it."

"And I'd tell you the same," I lean forward so I can lower my voice even more, "but I don't think you want it." Her eyebrow lifts slightly and her smirk widens. I wink at her as her name is called and she immediately wipes her face into one of nerves and darts for the door to the training centre. I can't help but smile slightly, pleased that I've definitely got the right idea about what she's up to. It's sad really, two conversations with the girl from Five and I already know we could have been good friends if we were in another situation.

"You've got a plan?" Linden asks me quietly as we watch the girl from Six leave the room, meaning Linden will be the next one called.

"Yes. What about you?"

He shrugs uncomfortably and I turn to eye him carefully. His skin is pale and sweaty and the bouncing of his knee and fiddling with the hem of his shirt have been annoying me for the last half hour. It's clear that he is incredibly nervous. "You'll do fine," I whisper, reaching out to purposefully touch his arm and smiling at him encouragingly, "You're good with the knives and you're pretty strong. Just do what you and Hiller worked out and you'll be great."  
He reaches out to squeeze my hand, acknowledging the fact that I've willingly touched him, but doesn't verbally reply. His knee bouncing gets worse and his hand is almost slick with sweat by the time his name is called. I squeeze it again and then release it to touch him on the back, "Go get 'em Butcher-Boy," I murmur as he stands up, "And don't forget to breathe," I add, slightly louder as he stumbles towards the door.

I wince as he pauses and sways on the spot, fearing for a moment that he's going to pass out or be sick. He manages to clutch the frame of the door and keep going and when it slides shut behind him, he's still on his feet. I spare a quick moment to silently wish him well then concentrate on myself. Now Linden is gone, I'm up next and I want to be mentally ready. I start shaking out my arms and neck and focusing on running through my plan. If the Game Makers have been watching me at all, they'll have seen that I can feed myself, set a fire and have been learning snares and how to use a spear. I've proven that I have some survival skills, my private training is so I can show off my best assets. Stealth, agility and hand-to-hand combat. I plan on doing my best to enter the room and cross to the ropes course without being seen. I have to hit the big red button by the course to start the clock, so after that it'll be about completing it as fast as possible so I have plenty of time to show off my hand to hand combat.  
My plan goes incredibly well, with a few weights lying around being perfect cover for me to dart between over to the start of the ropes course. I hit the button and determinedly focus on my task, ignoring my audience. When I finish I am exceptionally pleased to see it's me best time yet at three minutes and forty seven seconds. I'm out of breath as I jog over to the hand-to-hand combat, but I quickly regain it as I speak quickly to the trainers there and select out my opponent. I purposefully choose the one that is closest to Cato in size and confidently step into the marked out area to face him unarmed.

"Knives," I confirm and impatiently watch the muscular man choose two long, completely blunt daggers, that could be considered small swords if you ask me.

They're a lot bigger than the ones Fletcher and I practiced with, but I don't waste time doubting myself. Within twenty seconds of the trainer calling the start, I have disarmed the man and have him in a headlock with one knife pressed to his neck and the other against his stomach. The trainer looks incredibly surprised and doesn't call anything as I hold the position. I lift an eyebrow and release the man, shoving him away and throwing one of the knives down beside his foot.

"Give me four on one," I say, focusing on evening my breathing as the trainers faff about.

I get into a ready position and wait for them to make the first move. Sure enough, the same man I have just beaten comes hurtling at me, his blunt knife raised. I duck my head under his arm and grab it with both hands, wrenching it behind his back. My fingers find the pressure point in his wrist and he drops the knife at once with a cry of pain. I kick it as far away as I can, then bring my knee up into the small of the trainer's back. If I did it as hard as I could, he probably wouldn't be standing up anytime soon, but we're not actually supposed to hurt each other, so I do it just hard enough that it demonstrates the effectiveness. I go to spin him around to bring my knife into his heart, but am forced to release him as the other trainers start attacking. Within another few minutes, I've disarmed all of them and am the only one with a weapon. I get one in a headlock and pretend to cut his throat.

"Dead," I call loudly, shoving him aside and taking a running jump at one of the others.

I take a few hard punches, but soon the other men are also 'dead'. Without me having to prompt him, the head trainer himself steps into the area. He is weaponless, so I toss my knife aside and get ready. I have a feeling this will be more of a fist fight. I'm right and soon find myself having to rely heavily on what Fletcher calls "my secret weapon" when he's being protective and worrying and my "cheat tactics" when I'm beating him in a fight. It's thanks to Tilia and her medical apprenticeship that I know exactly where to hit someone so it'll hurt the most; that I know where to push to make the muscles in their hand relax so they drop their weapons; how to give someone a dead arm; how to break bones; how to knock someone out. Pressure points and areas of weakness that allow me to turn my opponents body against them. It's the only way I can win against bigger, stronger and faster opponents.  
It's me who attacks first this time and I manage to get in a few punches to the kidney and to the jugular, before having to duck a wild punch for my head. The trainer has very good mental control or else an exceptionally high pain tolerance. Despite the amount of times I get him in places that I know really hurt, he keeps going until I have him pinned to the ground, my hand squeezing his neck.

"Dead."

I straighten up and glance once towards the Gamemakers. They don't immediately dismiss me, so I head for the axe station. After decapitating a few dummies - I can sort of see why Cato finds it satisfying - I select three and throw them all in quick succession at a line of three targets. The first splits the head, the second the neck and the third hits directly in the stomach region. Only my first has hit where I was aiming for, but the other two are lucky killing shots, so I simply smirk and move back towards the centre of the room. The Game Makers have been watching me closely, but they still don't say anything to dismiss me. I plant a hand on my hip and lift an eyebrow, "Would you like me to demonstrate my knife and spear throwing as well? Or will that be enough for you?"

I address Seneca Crane since I know he is the Head Game Maker and offer him a confident smirk. He doesn't need to know I'm terrible at throwing knives or that my heart is hammering with pure adrenaline and I feel as though I'm shaking like a leaf.

"I must say I was expecting big things from you Miss Aspen," he smirks lightly, "With all those rumours flying around, I've been looking forward to meeting you properly."

"I hope I haven't disappointed you then Mr Crane," I say with a hint of playfulness.

"You couldn't if you tried," he leans forward in his chair and lets his eyes leisurely stroll from the axes still in the target and then taking their time to trace down my body, "I think you've given us enough to work with Miss Aspen. While I'm sure we'd all love to see more of what you have to offer," he runs his tongue over his lips and I have to try and hide a shiver of disgust as his eyes linger on my legs, "that's all the time we have. Pity. I shall look forward to our next meeting."

I force a coy sort of smirk and turn to saunter from the room. I can feel eyes following me, but I ignore them, flicking my hair as I gratefully reach the door. The moment it shuts behind me I let a relieved sigh escape my lips and start to move for the elevator. I'm glad the training part is over, nothing I can do now except wait for my score and try to start mentally preparing for the invasive questions, personal spotlight and hundreds of thousands of eyes that will be fixed on me in a pretty and probably revealing dress. I've just hit the call button for the elevator when I hear heavy footsteps moving across the tile floor towards me. Turning, I'm surprised and nervous to see Cato, well aware that this is the first time I've been alone in his presence.

"Hello Aspen," he acknowledges with a smirk, "Good session?"

"I'd like to think so," I reply haughtily, "How about you? Decapitate any dummies today Two?"

"A few," he chuckles slightly, which surprises and unsettles me. I'd expected him to go back to the sadistic predator now we were one step closer to the deadly seriousness of the actual Games, instead he's still acting friendly and slightly playful, "Did you throw any spears?"

I didn't, but he doesn't have to know that. Instead of confirming or denying, I just smile mysteriously and cock my head to the side as I study him, "So do you think you got the first twelve to ever be awarded? Or are you not quite that confident?"

Cato hesitates and I can see that he'd definitely like a twelve, but in the end he simply crosses his arms with a casual shrug and smirks again, "I'm confident I did better than you Aspen and I think it's about time you dropped the Two business," his smirk widens into a smile as he makes a point of widening his eyes and studying me just as intently as I'm studying him, "I think we know each other well enough for you to call me by my name."

I lift my eyebrows in interest at the challenge and allow my tense shoulders to relax slightly at his playfulness, "I'm not so sure about that, Two. As for the scores, I suppose we'll have to wait and see, because I'm confident that I did just as well as you. And know what else I'm confident of?" I take a step forward, lifting my chin and lowering my voice as I hold his gaze, "I'm confident that I could beat you in a fight."

I smirk at him for a long moment, relishing the surprise on his face, then turn and saunter into the elevator. He can only blankly stare as I hit the button for the seventh floor and wave my fingers at him teasingly as the doors slide shut. I honestly have no idea what to think about Cato. He's been weirdly nice the last few interactions we've had and instead of the over aggressive and controlling attitude that deeply unsettles me, he seems to have stepped back into a friendlier role.  
Careers from District Two are not supposed to be friendly.  
I don't know what sort of game he and I are playing, but I feel like I'm walking along a rotting branch. I can't afford to let my guard down. One wrong move and I don't even want to think about what's going to happen. The problem is, I can't back down and act terrified of him now. I can't stand in silence and ignore him, because that would definitely make him angry. All I can do is try to keep our interactions from turning towards him physically assaulting me and hope that I can stay as far away as possible from him in the Games. I doubt he'd stay friendly for long.

 **So things are starting to heat up a little here! What do you think of this other side of Cato? Is it just a strategy or him being genuine? Do you think Rose is right to be suspicious, or should she have let her guard down a little more? Let me know what you think and I'll try and get the next chapter up in a few days! :) xx**


	8. Chapter 8

*** Chapter Eight ***

The atmosphere is incredibly tense as Linden, Hillier, Johanna and I wait for the scores to be announced. I get the feeling that both Hiller and Johanna are bracing themselves for the worst. They only arrived halfway through dinner and were both unusually quiet. Even Johanna only snapped once at Anariel: harshly informing her that the colour of her dress made it look like she was dying from some horrible disease. There was a general inquiry about how we thought our private sessions went, but overall both were cold, distant and seemed preoccupied. Anariel had of course excused herself at the earliest opportunity to change her dress and had not returned. I still didn't think assigning a woman with such low self confidence to escort Johanna Mason's district was a good idea, but I was starting to get a little annoyed about how meek Anariel acted. She needed to stand up to Johanna or it would never stop. Linden can't sit still. He only picked at his food and has spent the entire lead up to the scores shifting nervously on the couch beside me. I've gone back to chewing on the inside of my cheek, but am sitting completely still. I haven't moved since I sat down. Not a twitch, not a readjustment. I'm frozen, my gaze fixed on the television and the Capitol presenters, who seem to be finally getting around to actually telling us the scores.  
District One get predictably high marks, both scoring nines. Then their faces are replaced by Cato and Clove's, both of whom receive tens. I still don't move, but blood is roaring in my ears as I numbly watch Three and Four receive their scores. I only see the numbers and faces, I can't hear the reactions of anyone else or even what the Capitol men are saying, I'm completely focused on the screen. Three both get low scores, but the pair from Four are decent with two eights. Then comes District Five. The boy gets a six and then Brinna's face appears. Even in her photo you can see the glimmer of cunning intelligence in her eye. Finally I openly react as I see the five flash across her face, allowing myself to smirk slightly. She will be incredibly happy with that. It's a forgettable score, not the lowest, but not high enough to warrant attention from anyone. She'll be underestimated by almost everyone. District Six both get low scores, being on the younger side of the Reaping age and then finally the words 'District 7' appear on the screen. All of a sudden I can hear again and my stomach churns as Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman start talking about Linden and I.

"Linden Fawley and Rosilda Aspen, seventeen and eighteen years old. Their combined ages are equal to District One's as the oldest district and it is very clear that neither of these tributes are children," Templesmith laughs.

I feel sick as an image from the parade flashes up. "In fact, if gossip is to be believed, then Rosilda Aspen is certainly stirring up some interest!" Flickerman agrees, expressively moving his dyed eyebrows, "I know that I for one am looking forward to her interview! Especially after all the rumours that have been filtering through to our ears about what's been happening behind those closed doors of the Training Centre!"

"Our esteemed Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, certainly had a thing or two to say - or not to say - about her today too!" Templesmith laughs and then reads off a sheet of paper, "Quoted as saying, 'Regardless of her abilities, I expect the nation shall much enjoy watching and getting to know the engaging enigma that is Miss Aspen.' Sounds exciting, am I right Caesar?"

"You most definitely are Claudius! If all of this is true, it seems like Miss Aspen is a lot more than just a pretty face! I guess we'll find out shortly, only two short days until the Interviews folks!"

"Definitely something to get excited about ladies and gents! It will certainly be interesting to see how her score matches up with some of her competitors! But first, her district partner: Linden Fawley! Seventeen years old, six foot one inch, with a weight of one hundred and forty eight pounds. Linden, with a score of…" As he has been doing all night Templesmith draws out the moment dramatically, before finally declaring, "Six!"

"Good job!" I breathe out, turning my head to offer him a tight smile.

Hillier and Johanna exchange a glance, but Linden is too busy smiling in relief to notice. At this point I think he was happy to receive a score higher than a two. "Oh well done Linden!" Anariel must have come back in while I was busy listening to the presenters discuss me, because she moves from just behind the couch to give him a big smile, "We can definitely work with that!"

I'm glad that Johanna bites her tongue for once, but catch her eye briefly before I return my attention to the screen where Caesar is spewing out my height and weight for the whole country to hear. "Rosilda Aspen, eighteen years old, five foot nine inches, with a weight of one hundred and twenty five pounds. Rosilda, with a score of…." I think I might be sick, my stomach is so knotted."…Ten!"

A whoosh of air is released from my mouth, making me aware that I was holding it. A wide grin slowly spreads across my face as I see the double digit figure spin across my face in confirmation of what he has said. I thought I'd maybe managed a seven or eight, but ten? I guess Crane really did like me. At this point, it can only be a good thing - or at least that's what I tell myself, because the uneasiness in my stomach, really has no place being there.

"That's what I'm taking about Thorns!" Johanna exclaims loudly, a smile spreading across her own face, "Hell yes!"

"Congratulations Rose," Linden smiles and tentatively offers me a hug. With a bubble of happy laughter I accept it, letting him pull me into his shoulder and hugging him back for a moment. When he releases me, I'm immediately squeezed by Anariel too, who seems determined that she'll get a proper hug this time.

"It has been a long time since District Seven has had a score in the double figures," Hillier says, clasping my had tightly between his and giving me a wrinkled smile, "A very long time."

"You more than tripled my score," Johanna smirks, her eyes flashing wickedly, "And you doubled it Linden. Well done."

The rest of the tributes go by without anyone really catching my eye until District Eleven. I sit forward anxiously and let out a heavy sigh when Thresh also receives a ten. I doubt Cato is going to be happy, seeing as far as I know, Thresh hasn't joined the Career Alliance either. It's Rue though that I am anxious to see. Again it's relief that hits me when I see her score: Seven. She'll get sponsors for sure. It's hard not to root for her, when she's so happy, bubbly and adorable and with a score of a seven, the Game Makers have given her a chance. Then comes District Twelve and again my stomach churns with anticipation. I'm not surprised when the boy, who Templesmith calls Peeta, receives an eight. If I'm being honest, I'm not even really surprised when Katniss Everdeen receives her score. The Game Makers have been generous this year, with the number of scores larger than five quite high and at the end of the day this is a television show. The drama can only be encouraged within the Capitol who surely must get bored of watching the Careers butcher all the other tributes each year. They've certainly given the spectators something to talk about though and I don't even want to think about what the reactions of District Two will be like. I picked it right from the beginning, but I'm not happy about being proven right. The Girl-On-Fire is the one to beat. She's the dark horse.

And now everyone knows it, because it's impossible to ignore a tribute that scored an eleven.

After six hours of working with Anariel on 'interview presentation', I'm a little over the whole preparing for the interview thing. My posture is fine apparently, but she doesn't seem to understand why I don't try and be more friendly. I finally tell her that if I act confident and superior then the sponsors will see me as having a better chance at winning. She seems to understand what I mean, because she murmurs something about neither Linden or I being sadistic. If you can't convince the audience that you're excited about killing, then you have to at least convince them that you don't care about it. The most tedious thing however is trying to walk in the sky-high heeled shoes Anariel provides. You'd think that I would be alright at it because I have good balance and I know I'm sure footed, but no. I'm used to standing with my weight in my toes to allow me to change directions quickly and to move quieter, but having shoes that enforce it is very different. For starters I dislike them immediately, because it's almost impossible to move quietly with their clicking. For another, there is absolutely no ankle support, which I think is the basis of my problem. Anariel provides helpful tips, but at the end of the day she just knows how to walk in them so there's only so much she can teach me about it. After over two hours of me tripping down the hallway and nearly breaking both my ankle and my neck numerous times, she passes me off to Johanna. I'm tired, hungry and annoyed that I can't pick up such a simple thing and I'm not really in the mood for Johanna's rubbish, but I try. After another few hours of her drilling me with every question she can think of, all of which she assures me have been asked at interviews before, I finally can't take it. The tipping point is when she asks me if I have a special boy waiting back home. It's stupid, I should be able to answer such a simple question, but I can't. All of a sudden I'm struck with the realisation that all the footage of the last few days will be being broadcasted across the Districts. It's mandatory and though they don't film training, they do film snippets of the hour of lunch and before and after. I've seen things from within the district floors too, which means I could be being broadcasted right now. I don't particularly care about any, but one person. I never wanted him to be able to look at me ever again and now he not only has an excuse to, but he gets to see me being humiliated all over again.  
It's too much and I spring to my feet, practically running for the elevator. I don't know where I want to go, just that I have to get off this floor. It's been days since I've been outside and I feel like I'm going crazy. There's a tightness in my chest and I haven't been able to shake the feeling of being trapped.

"Where do you think you're going?" Johanna yells after me, "Aspen!"

I don't reply, stabbing the button viciously and hitting all the buttons between the seventh floor and the ground one. I slide to the ground as the elevator starts moving, my legs straight out in front of me, with the stupid heeled shoes still on because Anariel thought it'd be a good idea for me to wear them for the rest of the day. My head lolls back against the wall of the elevator and I close my eyes, breathing deeply in and out. What I wouldn't give to be able to climb a tree back home and look out over the forest. To feel the wind and sun on my skin and enjoy the illusion of complete freedom. I feel like I'm suffocating within these walls and that the pressure in my chest is a time-bomb, ticking away until I explode. It's a few minutes before I get up the energy to open my eyes and then lean forward and pull my shoes off. The elevator stops and the doors open for the fourth or fifth time as I cast the first aside. I heft the second and aim it at the door close button on the panel. Just as I release it, I become aware that three people are standing in front of me in the foyer of the second floor. The distraction makes me not just miss the button, but also the wall. My shoe bounces off the edge of the open door and lands annoyingly upright a few metres outside the elevator, right in front of me. One of the three people gasps as if I have done something absolutely abhorrent, but I don't pay her much attention. I'm amused by the fact that someone else is having just as much trouble walking in heels as I am and that she's got an almost choke hold around her district partner as she tries to walk across the foyer in a floor length dress.

"Give me another type of stiletto and I swear I'll cut your throat if you laugh one more time," Clove is hissing to Cato.

I blink at them and then at my shoe. If I want to get my shoe, I'll have to stand up and exit the elevator. To do that I'd have to walk onto the District Two floor. Luckily neither Career has noticed me, it's just the Capitol woman. Unfortunately that doesn't last long, because she lets out a high pitched shriek. "How dare you?" she all but screams at me, "How dare you! You filthy savage!"

I'm shocked for a moment, until I realise she's referring to my treatment of the shoe, then I get annoyed. More annoyed than I should, but the fact that she thinks it's more savage to throw a shoe, than to kill children pisses me off. As does the fact that she's drawn both Clove and Cato's attention to me. I seize my other shoe from the floor of the elevator and throw that one out too with a little more aggression that before, "It might not be the stiletto you prefer, but you could definitely still do some damage with it," I growl out at Clove, "Maybe you should try!"

If I had my way, the elevator doors would close dramatically at this point, but they don't, so for a long moment we all just stare at each other, then Clove starts laughing. The Capitol woman wails and moves forward towards my discarded shoes and Cato just crosses his arms and smirks, "Is this your attempt at a jail-break?" he asks mockingly.

"No," I scoff, "If I was breaking out, I definitely wouldn't stop by to see you!"

"Then what the fuck are you doing sitting in the elevator?" he demands with amusement.

"I was going to explode if I had to stay on that stupid seventh floor a moment longer," I mutter, "It's like suffocating! Where the fuck are the trees in this place?"

Clove only laughs harder, almost toppling over as she loses her balance in her shoes. Cato's smirk widens though as he nods, "Jailbreak for fresh air sounds like a good plan," he says, looking almost sympathetic for a split second before the infernal smirk reappears, "Try the roof. Take the elevator to Twelve and then go up the stairs."

"Cato!" the Capitol woman shrieks, sounding horrified again, "What are you-"

At this point, the elevator doors finally start to close. I smirk at the fact my shoes are still lying on the floor of their foyer and nod once to Cato, who looks rather amused about the whole thing. Lucky for me, seeing as I tried to step right into the lion's mouth. I have no doubt that Anariel will be completely confused by my lack of shoes, but I barely spare them a second thought as the elevator stops at the District One floor. I can faintly hear arguing from within, but nobody is in view, so I don't bother trying to leap for the elevator button to avoid a repeat from before. In fact, the screaming match is rather enlightening and amusing. Seems like Glimmer isn't a fan of her interview angle, which just as I predicted it would be, is provocative and flirty. She's screaming about how she wants to be taken seriously and that if she wanted money from old, rich men, she'd have become a prostitute instead of attending the Academy to become a victor.  
I don't find it in myself to feel sorry for her, seeing as a prostitute is exactly what she'd called me in training and instead I grin to myself as the doors eventually close. I stumble to my feet when I arrive on the ground floor and quietly pad, barefoot out into the foyer and down the corridor towards the training area. I'm not surprised, but am a little disappointed to find it locked. Sighing, I traipse back to the elevator and then wonder if there's stairs. A run up the stairs would probably help me feel better. After shiftily loitering in the corner of the foyer while a few Capitol people wander passed, I start opening random doors. Finally, I find a drafty, dark stairwell. It's very narrow and the stairs are both incredibly shallow and steep, but it's functional. I close the door behind me and wait a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the very dim lighting, before starting up the stairs. I take the first flight slowly, then start jogging, concentrating on not losing my footing on the shallow steps. It's quite therapeutic and because it requires all my concentration it's also perfect for helping me to relax. Around the fourth floor, just after I've fully settled into a pattern, a person appears on the landing just above me. My concentration shattered, I stumble and have to make a wild grab at the rail to stop myself from falling. He's about the same age as me but in the dim lighting of the stairwell, he looks almost ghostly. His skin is a stark contrast to his hair which looks as black as coal, but then again, I wonder if to him I look the same, seeing as my colouring is similar. I give the uniformed boy the shock of his life. He gasps hoarsely and stares at me with wide fearful brown eyes.  
I gape at him in response, and slowly register his clothes, recognising the uniform to mean he's an avox. With realisation I look around the dingy stairwell and realise that this must be the way the avoxes journey between floors. Of course, they wouldn't be allowed to use the elevators and I doubt any person from the Capitol would be caught dead walking up these stairs. I suddenly wonder if I might have found the one place where nobody would have bothered to put cameras, but then I realise that the risk is too great. If I tried to communicate with this known traitor, I wouldn't be doing myself or him any favours. In fact I'd probably get both of us killed.  
With great difficulty, I tear my eyes away, looking down at my bare feet. The boy moves aside, pressing himself against the wall of the stairwell and determinedly looking straight ahead. It's clear he's waiting for me to move passed him so that both of us can continue as if this never happened. I slowly rise back to my feet and begin to edge up the steps. I should do as he is and ignore his presence, look straight ahead and move quickly, but I can't. My eyes won't stay away from him. I want to know what a boy my own age could possibly have done to earn himself this fate. I don't want to be like the Capitol citizens and just walk passed him as if he doesn't exist, but I don't want to get him in trouble either. I settle for a simple acknowledgment that if anyone questioned, could be put down to ingrained behaviour.

"Thank you," I murmur as I pass, making sure my eyes stay firmly on my feet, even as I smile slightly.

He doesn't make a sound or move a muscle and I don't linger or look back, instead starting jogging again. My ears are pricked for the sound of his footsteps, but despite the fact that my bare feet make next to no noise on the concrete, I don't hear a thing. When I turn to go up the next flight and have a clear view of the landing below, he's disappeared. As if he really was a ghost.

In the end I reach the top of the staircase all too quickly, so I decide to go back down. This is even more perilous than going up and I am forced to go slower as I wind my way back to the ground floor. I don't see a soul this time and when I return to the brightly lit foyer, sweaty and a little out of breath, I'm rather surprised to see a group of Capitol people conversing. The colourful, brightly lit area is a direct contrast to where I've just come from and I hurry to the elevator. It's beginning to hit me that I could have less than two days to live. This time tomorrow I'll be dressing for my interview and in forty eight hours, I'll be in the arena. In the Hunger Games. After tonight, I'll have to keep up my mask all the time. There really won't be a single moment that I'm not being recorded and watched. The thought scares me and so does the fact that after tonight, I really will be property of the Capitol. Dressed up and paraded around in front of their audience, forced to answer their questions and then shipped off to fight and quite possibly die for their entertainment. It makes me want to do something reckless and a little wild. The familiar antsy feeling in my chest expands. I'd just gotten rid of my restlessness, but now it's back in full force. Recalling what Cato said about the roof of this place and how annoyed his escort was, my eyes drift to the twelfth button on the elevator panel. Surely he wasn't making it up just to annoy me? The elevator stops at the seventh floor and I abruptly make a decision. It would probably be stupid for me to go by myself, in case he's lying in wait to throw me off the roof or something. And anyway, why should I be the only one to get a last evening of freedom? Linden must be missing the trees and fresh air as much as me and he deserves to make one last good memory too. With a plan firmly in mind, I set off determinedly. I know exactly what I want and I'm not going to rest until I get it. I burst through the door into Linden's bedroom without knocking and don't pause to even properly look for him as I demand, "How do you feel about doing something reckless?"

I blink as I take note of his shirtless state and only lift an eyebrow when he immediately colours bright red and scrambles around to find a shirt. He was lying on his back on the gigantic bed, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. From the loose striped pants he's wearing - and his lack of a shirt - I gather he was getting somewhat prepared for bed, "R-Rose! What-"

"How do you feel about doing something because we're alive and we can?" I speak over him, my fevered excitement not at all dampened as I move closer to him and grab his arm to stop his frantic searching for a clean shirt. Linden freezes under my hand and stares at me openmouthed. He looks completely thrown and slightly nervous, but I press on, "How do you feel about doing something just to feel free and happy? How do you feel about taking right now and making it something worth remembering?"

"I…" he closes his mouth and swallows visibly, "So long as you aren't talking about… er… I'm not sure Cato… or any of your brothers…"

My smile only widens and I release his arm, already backing towards the door, "Put on a shirt and meet me by the elevator in five. While I don't particularly care about your pasty chest, Johanna would certainly have something to say!"

"Wait… Rose! What are we doing?"

I shoot him a mischievous grin over my shoulder and dance out the door to gather our things. When I arrive at the elevator a short time later, it is to find a slightly anxious looking Linden making polite conversation with Anariel. "G'evening Anariel," I smile as I approach, adjusting my hold on the basket I'm carrying and noting Linden's curious gaze. She's changed again since I last saw her and her hands nervously flutter to smooth the front of her dress as she turns to face me. It's a pretty shade of leaf green with rich brown trimmings that can't help but remind me of home. Her auburn hair is pulled away from her face for once and the combination of that and the colours of the dress make her hazel eyes pop. "Wow," I say, genuinely, "You look really pretty Ana, that's a great colour on you and I love your hair like that!"

A tentative smile spreads across her face and a light blush rises on her cheeks, "Thank you Rosilda. That's very kind of you to say."

"You shouldn't let Johanna push you around," I add in a lower voice, touching a hand to her shoulder, "She respects people that stand up for themselves. If you let her intimidate you, she'll walk all over you."

"Yeah," Linden surprises me by agreeing, "They wouldn't have given an important job like this to someone that didn't deserve it. You're a great escort."

"Thank you," she murmurs, her eyes shining, "That means a lot to me."

I smile at her again and move to push the call button on the elevator, "It's only the truth. Linden and I are just popping out for a bit, we won't be too late."

Anariel gives a slightly anxious glance around us, furthering my suspicions that our every action is monitored, "Are you going up to the roof?" she asks in a strong voice.

"Yes," I reply simply, taking Linden's arm and tugging him into the newly arrived elevator, "We'll be careful. Don't worry!"

I smile at her as the elevator doors slide shut and hit the button for the top floor quickly. I don't think she'll try and stop us, but I'm suffocating and I'm not sure I can handle being stuck inside a moment longer. My excitement and intent watching of the floor counter must affect Linden in some way because he's oddly silent and still and we rise. I'm not all that surprised when he shifts suddenly and stats fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, just as the elevator starts to slow.

"Are you sure we're allowed up here Rose? We don't want to cause trouble—"

"What are they going to do?" I laugh slightly, "Come on Linden! We're going into the Games the day after tomorrow! Do you really want to lie around and stare at your bedroom ceiling all evening? Live a little!"

He doesn't resist as I eagerly tug him out of the opening doors and passed the entrance to the District Twelve quarters, but forces me to slow when we reach the stairs, "I'm not certain this is a good idea."

I stop and sigh softly, "Linden, when was the last time you did something just because you could? Did something unplanned and different just for the sake of it? What's the worst that could happen?"

He looks at my pleading expression for a moment, then turns his gaze resolutely to the wall, "Does Johanna know we're here?"

"Of course not!" I groan, "I don't think she's this sort of person."

"What if we run into District One?" Linden demands, a touch of panic entering his voice, "Or worse District Two? Want to know the worst that could happen? What if Cato decides to start a fight with you when there's no trainers and peacekeepers around to stop him?"

I release his arm and shift the basket so it's between us, holding it with both hands and scowling at him, "I am more than capable of looking after myself," my voice is low and firm, icy cold, but then I shake my head, annoyed that he's dragging me down from my high, "Don't be such a stick in the mud Butcher Boy! Like Two is going to be doing anything other than strategising and fantasising about killing all of us! There's no way we'll run into them. Come on, this could be our last chance to just be Rose and Linden. To just have fun and not think about anything other than right now. Don't you want that?"

Linden sighs heavily, "Fine, but if we get in trouble, I'm saying it was all your idea!"

"Noted," I laugh, rolling my eyes at his silliness and starting up the stairs again, "Oh and if it makes you feel any better, I've got apple cider and chocolate cake in this basket!"

"You brought alcohol?" Linden half yells, looking horrified.

"I'm eighteen Pinecone Head!" I remind him exasperatedly, "It's not like we're going to get drunk off one bottle of cider. Would you stop worrying for once, you'll never have a good time if you don't!"

"Rosilda Aspen barges into my bedroom and offers me a good time," Linden mutters under his breath, "Nobody would believe me, even if I had anybody to tell."

I scowl and smack his arm hard, fighting down the discomfort that coils in my stomach and trying to take it like the joke he means it as, "I've got three brothers Butcher Boy and they're all much better with an axe than you are."

"You punched a Career in the face Rose," he scoffs, "You're plenty scary yourself! And besides, you know I'm not like that."

I want to point out that I didn't think Wren Barclay was that sort of person either, but I don't. I just smirk and point out that he's so straight laced he nearly passed out when I barged into his room without knocking. In usual response to my teasing, he grins and bears it, holding the door to the roof open so that I can pass. "Such a gentleman," I tease, laughing at him, "Yet I'm still carrying the basket?"

"I figured you wouldn't be easily parted with your chocolate and booze."

The miffed expression on his face as he says it makes me laugh harder, "Right you are!"

I step out onto the roof and almost immediately I feel better. The fresh air doesn't seem quite as crisp as normal, with a hint of machine smell on the air, but on the other hand I'm not sure I've ever been so relieved to feel the wind in my hair. I grin and set the basket down, moving further out into the open air and spreading my arms around me. With a giddy laugh I twirl around, leaning back so my long hair streams out behind me. Not only is there open space and wind, but there's also actual living plants. No trees, but bushes and flowers and vines and even patches of grass alongside the path that winds through the greenery. I race over to the edge of the roof and catch my breath as I lean out to look down at the ground. As a lead climber, I've got a great head for heights and I spend half my life almost one hundred feet above the ground. This is different though. It feels as though it is ten times that height and I can't help that my eyes bug out with awe at the view.

"Linden! You've got to see this! The view is amazing! And we're so high up! Higher than the top of the tallest trees in the forest back home! It's incredible!"

"Yeah… Rose, maybe you should step back a bit."

"Townie," I sniff, throwing a look at him over my shoulder which I accompany with a teasing smile, "Seriously Linden, you have to see this. The people are so small you can barley see them! And the automobiles are like shiny, colourful bugs!"  
I don't get a reply and after a moment I turn around to see what he's doing, another mocking word on my tongue. The sight of my district partner, the sensible son of the Butcher, crouched down beside a bush, twirling a leaf between his fingers, wistful longing on his face makes me swallow what I was going to say. Instead I move silently to his side and lower myself beside him. He jumps slightly in shock, but the lack of comment about sneaking up on him makes it different to every other time. I pull my own leaf free from the bush and as I do so I inhale deeply through my nose. Very faintly I can smell moist dirt and musky earth. The scents of home that I miss so much. "All they had to do was plant a pine tree and I'd be crying," the dry sarcasm that comes from my mouth makes me think I've been spending too much time with Johanna and I abruptly stand to fetch the basket.  
I grab the bottle first and open it easily. The Capitol don't bother with trifles such as corks. I've forgotten to bring glasses, so I hesitate a moment, then take a large swig, before offering it to Linden. The cider is much sweeter than any sips I have stolen back home, but it's still familiar and I press it into Linden's hand firmly. He looks at me for a long moment, then takes a long gulp himself. "Better than wine?" I tease, remembering how he'd choked on the first sip of it he'd taken at dinner our first night in the Capitol.

"Much," he concedes with great dignity.

I smirk and clap him on the back, "Then maybe we'll make a lumber-jack out of you yet, Townie!"

We pass the next few hours talking and eating our way through almost the entire chocolate cake. We talk about everything apart from the Games. From silly things like Linden's discovered love of Capitol peaches and mine of chocolate, and what our stylists will make us wear tomorrow, to our families and the things we remember about each other - moments from before everything changed for me. That's the other thing we avoid talking about. That period of six months three and a half years ago when I had to rebuild myself back up from the brink of being completely broken. He doesn't ask and I'm glad for it. We're happy and I don't want to tarnish the day with any unpleasantness. Not in the future, nor in the past. We rest on the blanket from the end of my bed, hidden away amongst the bushes and flowers, sitting as we pass the bottle between us and lying side-by-side when it's empty. After awhile the conversation petters out and we lie in companionable silence, gazing up at the stars. There's fewer than at home, but I think this might be due to the Capitol lights. I can still pick out the constellations that I know as well as the back of my hand and every now and again, Linden or I will point out a slightly less obvious one.

"You know, my mum used to tell me and my sister that the stars are our ancestors looking down on us," Linden says at one point.

The out of the blueness of the statement, makes me laugh slightly, but I find it a comforting thought none-the-less. Because I can tell he's a little embarrassed about blurting it out, I add quietly, "My dad told me and my siblings that every tree in our forest was planted in memory of someone who died a long time ago. That hundreds of years ago, people started planting a tree so that their loved ones could live on."

"That's a really nice idea," Linden murmurs, "Better than stars creepily looking down on you I think. I'd like to have a tree."

"Me too," I agree, finding his hand and giving it a little squeeze as we lapse into silence again.

It's not until Linden suddenly gasps and points out a shooting star that I glimpse for barely a moment before it's gone that we begin to sit up and grudgingly pack the things back into the basket. I don't know about Linden, but I don't put much stock in wishes. That didn't stop me from wishing our perfect evening would never end though. It's with grim determination that I lead the way back down the stairs. All good things come to an end eventually. Having these memories will make us stronger. Our loyalty to each other has been strengthened and my resilience renewed. I've had my last moment as just Rose before the arena. I've made one last perfect memory to be stored, treasured and remembered when I need it the most. Now I'm ready to be the fearless, strong, fiery and wilful female tribute from Seven. The one who challenged a Career and scored a ten in training.

The person I have to become if I want to survive.

 **How'd everyone like this chapter? Next time we'll get to see the real repercussions of Rose's score and the story is going to start to take a darker turn as we begin to move into the direct lead-up to the Games. These next few chapters are going to be the make-or-break so any feedback you have would be much appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! - xx**


	9. Chapter 9

*** Chapter Nine ***

I was very unprepared for what the next day would bring. After the chaos and drama around the day of the Tribute Parade, my very unenjoyable experience with my Prep Team and the rather bad mood I was expecting Johanna to be in after my antics the last day, I was prepared for another terrible experience. Marcella might have seemed a reasonably alright person - especially by Capitol standards - but I hadn't much enjoyed her last costume. I can honestly say I was pleasantly surprised. Instead of being woken by Johanna throwing a pillow at me as I had been the last few days, I was gently shaken awake by Anariel. It was early, but the escort brightly told me to take a shower with very explicit instructions to not touch because she'd already programmed it for what Marcella wanted. Having had some difficulty with the many buttons in the shower the previous times I'd used it, I was relieved to be able to just step into the already running and slightly sweet smelling water. After going through the process of moisturising, and drying my hair, I put on the fluffy green robe Anariel has left me and cautiously make my way towards the dining room. The three members of my prep team, my escort and stylist all greet me with somewhat disturbing friendliness. I expected cheerful from Anariel and some from Marcella, but the last time my prep team saw me they treated me more like an animal than a person. I can only assume that their new found friendliness is either because of Marcella's warning or a product of my reasonable success. I've seen the odds I'd been given. The same as Clove at 5-1 we're tied for the highest female tribute with only Cato beating us. Seems like the Girl-On-Fire was still too unknown for the Capitol's liking. Nobody expected her to get an eleven, not really at least. As for me, the media had been painting all sorts of pretty pictures about _Rosilda Aspen_.  
You see, several pieces had been broadcasted and published by the Capitol press regarding me. I wasn't sure how they had acquired half the information or footage they had, but I was rather disturbed by it. Capitol journalists must work quickly. For example, it was now common knowledge that my older sister was engaged to be married next month and that I was her maid-of-honour. The last part wasn't completely true - Laina was maid-of-honour; Laurel and I were bridesmaids and Willow was playing the part of flower-girl. It was also 'common knowledge' that Cato had lifted me into my chariot at the tribute parade, with a video of the incident being released - though the audio was impossible to understand - yesterday. Rumours about an altercation in training had also been flying around, with theories being that I'd slapped the Girl-on-Fire for showing me up at the parade, challenged Clove to a knife throwing fight and won (yeah right!), been caught making out with Linden, got in a cat fight with Glimmer over one thing or another or... I'd tried to force Cato to let me join the Careers. Of course there were more theories about how I'd gone about doing this. Top two were through beating him in a duel or... seduction.

Disgusting and nauseating to even think of if you ask me.

Never the less, that's what Anariel had quietly told me was flying around Capitol gossip channels when Linden and I returned from the roof the night before. It made me incredibly uncomfortable to imagine so many people thinking about me, looking at me and analysing my behaviour, but as Johanna tactlessly pointed out, I should probably be used to it to some degree by now. To be honest, I also had much more disturbing and terrifying things on my mind, so after making a few disgusted, incredulous and somewhat offended noises, I had shrugged and put what she'd said behind me. Not for long though.

The fact that within five minutes of my prep team playing like they were my closest friends they were grilling me about all the gossip flying around confirmed my suspicions. While the Capitol people might have seemed shallow and ridiculous to me, if playing along with them would help me win the Games, I'd do it. I dance around the subject and half answer their questions, making jokes and deflecting their attention. I choose to view it as practice for the interview later that day, but I can't deny that I end up actually enjoying it a little. Sometimes it's nice to have people genuinely excited to hear what you have to say. Marcella has a quick wit and one of the men on my prep-team is surprisingly funny as well. Anariel is much more open and chatty with people she feels more comfortable around too and it's nice to see her come out of her shell a little. However, there is one particular subject I can't quite avoid forever. My prep team is immensely interested in what I have to say on the subject of District Two. The rumours flying around seem to be getting wilder and wilder, but something has made my prep team hone in on what is actually rather close to the truth. Okay, so Claudia had seriously asked me if it was true the girl from One, Glimmer, had tried to cut my hair off because I was prettier than she was, but apart from that, all three of them were fixated on Cato. They dismissed the knife throwing thing because interviews with family and friends of tributes back home were already starting to surface and my prep team had been convinced by the awed fear that people spoke of Clove's ability. I can't blame them for counting me out of that particular one, especially after they witness me miss my attempt at lobbing a used napkin into the rubbish bin.

"Okay, okay!" I interrupt Claudia sighing over how gentlemanly it was for him to lift me into the chariot and how "absolutely, I'd-die-if-he-looked-at-me gorgeous" he supposedly is as she paints my nails and I use the other hand to fan my hot cheeks lightly. "We did interact in training, but he acted like a sadistic, controlling monster for most of it. It wasn't romantic and he's clearly a deranged, violent psycho who said he wants to cut my throat to see the blood drain out of my cheeks. Maybe he's putting some of it on for his angle, but let me tell you, he does not deserve that sort of praise! If you take away the actual ability to murder, he's nothing more than a bully and I absolutely despise people that take advantage of those weaker than them!"

"You know what Rose," Marcella smirks at me over the rack of clothes, "I don't hear you denying he's gorgeous."

"She has got eyes Marcella," a drawling voice interrupts from the doorway. Johanna saunters into the room and collapses into the empty seat next to me with a sly smirk, "Of course he's gorgeous," she grins, "Right Thorns?" I fix her with a venomous scowl and don't reply although I can tell by the heat flooding to my cheeks that she's probably got her answer. Johanna throws back her head and releases a cackling laugh, which Marcella and one of the men join in with.

"He might be nice to look at, but it's what's on the inside that counts, right Rose?" Anariel surprises me by speaking up, smiling softly at me and simply shrugging when Johanna releases a snort of contempt.

"Any man who is really a nice guy is either boring or gay," Johanna rolls her eyes, "Or they're faking. Any guy who comes across as nothing more than nice isn't worth your time!"

"Respectfully," Marcella says with a trace of sarcasm, looking up from flicking through a dress rack long enough to shoot Johanna a slightly disgusted look, "That sounds like a load of bullshit. I happen to think a lot of gorgeous and interesting men are very nice!"

"Come on Johanna," I pipe up slyly, "If you put up with Finnick you must think his personality is at least a little nice and not even you can say Finnick Odair isn't gorgeous."

"Ooh look at that!" Marcella cackles before Johanna can do more than shoot me a dirty look, "Maybe our Rose likes pretty boys better than Cato's type!"

"Now that's bullshit," Johanna points her finger at my stylist and gives me a mocking look, "Thorns is far too wild to be tamed by the likes of Finnick Odair. She needs someone a little rough around the edges!"

"Okay," I mumble, giving my mentor an exasperated look, "Have you been drinking before lunchtime again? That's enough about—"

"One more question!" the man helping Marcella organise the fabric pipes up, "I might not believe you hooked up with another tribute, but I'd just love to know who it would be if you did have to!"

"Oh yes!" Claudia squeals with excitement almost stabbing me in the eye with the little brush she's using to paint my nails as she throws her arms back, "That's a great question! Who would it be? Surely not Linden?"

"Er…."

Johanna is threatening to fall off her chair with the amount of laughing she's doing and Marcella is snorting in an extremely undignified way. Even Anariel is giggling to herself as she diligently works away on her electronic notebook, "They did sneak out together last night," she quietly offers with a wink at me, "Spent a few hours all alone up on the roof under the stars!"

"No! No! It would have to be Cato!" Claudia insists, looking almost distraught, "Right Rosilda?"

"I, er… I couldn't possibly choose," I finally mumble with no enthusiasm, "I mean, what if they're filming us right now? I don't want to… er… hurt anyone's feelings?"

When Johanna gasps out that I'm a heartless bitch that doesn't give a crap about the other tributes feelings and that I'm avoiding the question and then proceeds to actually fall off her chair I take the opportunity to kick her hard in the shoulder and hiss irritably, "How about we talk about your love-life Johanna? Perhaps about you and my darling brother? I mean you two are practically a match made in heaven! You both love laughing at me, are way too comfortable with hardly any clothes on and have the most inappropriate senses of humour! Can't believe a violent, psycho like you let him screw you over!"

She growls at me, but lets me turn the conversation away from boys and towards a more serious topic. I don't want to talk about my interview at all, but I am curious about a few other Games related things, like the way the sponsor gift system works. "So you pick out the sponsor gifts, right?" I ask Johanna, "You get the money from Capitol gold-rollers and then you decide how to use it? Any parachutes I get will be from you?"

"Probably," she shrugs, her attention caught by the dress bag Marcella has just produced.

"So what sort of stuff can you send? I mean, could you just save up enough until you can send me an axe?"

"Don't get fixated on that axe, Thorns," she chastises seriously returning her attention to me to give me a warning look, "You know that's not your main strength!" The thought of trying to take Cato or Thresh down with my bare hands or just a knife doesn't exactly excite me, but I concede her point with a nod, "Anyway, weapons are normally the absolute most expensive items on the menu, with a few random exceptions depending on circumstance, like medication or water will suddenly become really expensive sometimes."

"Weapons are the most expensive?" I repeat with a gloomy frown.

"Well…" Johanna hesitates and then smirks slightly, "I mean there's Dumbo. He's normally more expensive."

"Dumbo?" I repeat blankly.

"An elephant. One of those huge, grey things with four legs and the long trunk?"

Frowning, I manage to conjure up a vague image of what she is talking about, however I'm still rather confused and blink at her several times, before slowly saying, "You could send me an elephant called Dumbo?"

"I named him Dumbo," she snickers, "Would love enough money and an excuse to send him into the arena!"

"Why?" I ask in complete astonishment.

"Because Thorns," she smirks mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension, "I want to knowhow the esteemed Capitol manages to parachute a bloody elephant into the Hunger Games arena!"

This time it's Marcella who falls off her chair because she's laughing so hard.

"How did we end up running late again?" Marcella mutters, furiously fussing with the train of my dress as Claudia gasses my hair with a sticky spray and one of the men valiantly tries to clip big diamond stud earrings to my ears, whilst dodging the two women. The other man is trying to help me put on the terrifying looking shoes Marcella has produced, but I'm a little busy trying not to suffocate on the spray and almost fall over as he insistently shoves my foot into the first shoe.

"How are we going in here?" Anariel asks, breezing into the room with a happy smile, "Oh Rose you look absolutely—"

"We're late woman!" Marcella yells at my escort, "We don't have time for you to compliment my work!"

"You're not late," Anariel laughs slightly, "I'm sorry Marcella, it's all okay. I told you she had to be ready half an hour earlier than she does. There's still ten minutes until the tributes are even allowed to arrive!"

For a moment I think Marcella might impale Anariel with her scissors or one of the pins she's been sticking in my skirt. Instead however she lets out a slightly choked laugh, "That… that was rather intelligent. Thank you Ana. Okay people, let's put the finishing touches on our masterpiece and then get this show on the road!"

Things get done a lot quicker now they've all calmed down and as she leads me over to the mirror, I joke that at least this time the measurements are right. Marcella just mutters a curse word under her breath. I'd been warned that the dress was going to be "figure flattering" days ago when Johanna moved the chocolate mousse away from me at dessert so I'd been prepared for another tight, skimpy number. I actually rather like what I've been dressed in however. It is sexy, that's for sure, but it also has far more class than my parade costume. I'm dressed in emerald green lace which keeps with the whole 'dryad' theme without overdoing it. The sweetheart neckline is made of jagged leaf edges made of the lace and long mostly see-through sleeves encase my arms in a way that once again makes it appear as though I have vines coiling down my arms. The dress is completely skin tight all the way down to mid-thigh where it suddenly falls in a straight cut to the floor and pools slightly behind me.  
I'm showing off my entire collarbone, shoulders, neck and upper back regions, even though the zipper of the dress goes all the way up, the lace fabric stops and instead, slightly sparkly completely transparent fabric that continues up to my throat ensures the dress won't fall down. It's impossible to tell the dress actually doesn't stop where the lace does and I personally think the design is ingenious. My dark hair has been straightened and then curled into big, loose ringlets and draped over one of my shoulders and my makeup definitely holds with the sexy theme with big pouty lips, but dark eyes.  
The shoes can't possibly be seen, but apparently my silhouette is the whole idea of the dress and that means I have to wear heels. They're plain black pointed toe stilettos, but all I really care about is the fact I'm going to have to walk a sizeable distance in heels that have to be at least five inches tall. Overall though, I'm pleased. I don't feel nearly as uncomfortable as the parade; I'm still a little self-conscious and praying I won't attract too much attraction, but also feeling as though I look good —and not just in a prostitute sort of way either: classy good.  
By the time I actually make it to the elevator and Johanna, Marcella and Anariel lead me to where I'm supposed to be, my feet are already hurting and I've discovered trying not to trip over the train of the dress is an entirely different battle. Marcella and Anariel tag-team each other with the advice, but the only thing that really sticks on my mind is Marcella's threats of what she'll do to me if I dare to hike the dress up on stage - which is what I attempt to do on the way to the elevator.

"A lady doesn't lift her dress above her ankle!" apparently.

When we arrive, there are only a few other tributes standing with their stylists. I make a beeline for my district partner and Hillier, ignoring Marcella trying to fix my train and Anariel trying to encourage me to 'glide' in my heels. Linden is looking very fetching in black slacks, a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and an emerald green tie.  
"Look at that!" I call as I approach, "I think you're showing more skin than I am for a change! Look at those sexy arms!"

Linden glances at me, looks away and then does a double take, his mouth dropping open and his cheeks flushing with colour, "Rose?" he asks hoarsely, his eyes looking like they might pop out of his head.

"Who else would it be you nutter?" I demand, rolling my eyes at him, "What's wrong? Did I flash my ankle at you?"

Linden loosens his tie, "Er… are you aware how… er, form fitting that is?"

"Yes, thank you," I scowl at him slightly off-put by his reaction, "Surely it's not that bad!"

"He thinks you look hot Thorns and he's freaking out," Johanna snickers, "that's okay, what's not okay is that you've reduced Hillier to tears! What's wrong with you, old man?"

I look in alarm to the elderly man, who appears to not have heard Johanna. He does indeed look a little teary eyed as he reaches out to clasp my hand, "Has anyone ever told you, Miss Aspen, that you look incredibly similar to your aunt?"

I inhale sharply as I remember my mother's sister, "You… you were her mentor? My aunt's mentor? Aunt Alaina's?"

"She was a lovely young woman," Hillier says quietly, his hands shaking in mine and his voice quavering with a frailty I'd never heard him speak with before, "Just lovely. Beautiful of course, but she never stopped finding the beauty in the world around her either. Never have I mentored a girl so at peace with her fate. She knew she wouldn't win and all she wanted to do was enjoy every single moment of the time she had left. Touched a dying man's heart she did. A lovely girl, just lovely."

I squeeze his hand and give him a small sad smile, "I'm sorry I never got to know her."

"But you do know her," Hillier tells me, patting my hand, "She's with you. She's with all of us."

Johanna rolls her eyes slightly, but I'm touched and drop a kiss to the elderly man's cheek, "Thank you Hillier." He pats my hand again and then releases it turning his attention back to Linden who is speaking quietly to Anariel.

"Remind me again what your interview strategy is Thorns?" Johanna asks challengingly.

"Aloof and mysterious," I mutter.

"And sexy," Marcella jumps in, "I made a dress to make people want you, while telling them you are so unattainable! Aloof, sexy and mysterious and you're going to rock it. Especially wearing my dress! Work that in if you can please, darling!"

"Just be yourself," Anariel cuts in, "the dress does enough sexy and you come across as aloof and mysterious anyway—"

"Good luck Thorns," Johanna says with a laugh and a shake of her head, "I'm looking forward to how this goes!" She gives me a wink and leaves with Hillier only a moment later. I frown after her, having not missed the fact she was making fun of me and huff a little sigh.

"Thanks," I say to Marcella and Anariel.

My stylist nods curtly and retreats with Linden's to where a small group of very well dressed Capitol people are clumped in a tense looking group. Anariel on the other hand gives both Linden and I big smiles and cheerfully informs us the interview won't be starting for half an hour, but that she'll be back in twenty minutes to check on us, before hurrying off. Linden and I exchange glances with each other. He shrugs and loosens his tie a little more, crosses his arms and leans against the wall to wait. We stand in silence for a while and I'm just contemplating how much trouble I'd be in if I pulled my shoes off and sat down on the ground when I catch sight of someone that makes me smile. The tributes from district Eleven have just arrived and Rue looks absolutely charming in a sheer blue gossamer dress, complete with fluttery wings. As I'm smiling at her, I spot Brinna standing over near the elevator and clearly trying to catch my eye. When she does, she nods her head meaningfully, giving me a significant look, after a cautious glance around I make my way over.  
As I pass Rue, I say very quietly, without looking her way, "You look absolutely beautiful, Rue."

Thresh obviously hears me, because he grunts slightly, but the small happy giggle and quiet thank you I receive makes it worth it. I raise my eyebrow at the redhead from Five as I approach. She's wearing a light blue strapless dress with a ruffled skirt and looks very pretty, but I can tell by the look on he face she has no wish to trade those sorts of compliments. "Nice training score," I greet her instead, with a conspirator wink.

"Same to you," she says at once, completely unruffled, "I'd like to talk to you about the arena. How would you feel about an alliance?"

"An alliance?" I question, to stall for time while I try not to show my surprise and quickly weigh up the offer, "With you?"

"Yes," she says bluntly, her eyes darting cautiously around the room as she lowers her voice, "I have a game plan on how I'm going to have the best chance at surviving this, but I like you. You're smart, you'll get sponsors and you can obviously use some sort of weapon or else you wouldn't have got that training score. You're an asset and I think I can make it worth your while." Intrigued, I nod for her to continue, catching her eye for a second before going back to leaning against the wall with a bored look plastered on my face. It wouldn't do to draw attention to us. "I've got a plan," she continues quietly, lowering her head and pretending to fuss over the neckline of her dress to disguise the fact she's talking to me, "I'm fast and I can get in and out of places without being caught. I think you might be like that too. Between the two of us, we could cause some serious havoc for the Career Alliance. We can steal food and supplies when they aren't watching, we can scope them out, two people can keep watch far better than one and if we're always watching them without them knowing we have the advantage of not being killed by them."

I nod slowly, slightly impressed by the confident way she states her plan, "It's a very good idea," I say slowly, "And I agree that we could probably pull it off, but… I'm sorry Brinna. I have no desire to be anywhere near the Careers. I don't think—"

"Oi District Seven!"

I stiffen, recognising just from the tone and volume of his voice that it isn't the strangely friendly and helpful Cato swaggering towards me, it's the arrogant arsehole. His cocky yell has attracted the attention of everyone in the area and I'm not at all surprised when Brinna immediately slinks away towards her district partner. I however am distracted. I'm not proud of the way I can't help but notice that this sadistic prat looks very nice in a suit, but I also can't deny it. "Come to congratulate me on that lovely ten Two?" I manage to drawl out, pretending to examine my nails, "I told you I'd get the same score as you."

"You did," he agrees, smirking as he comes to a stop a little too close to me for my liking and crossing his arms as his eyes leisurely scan my body, "seems like you were worthy of my attention after all Seven."

"I feel absolutely privileged," I assure him with dripping sarcasm, doing my best not to cross my arms protectively, hunch my shoulders or step away, which is exactly what the hungry look in his eyes is making me want to do.

Cato laughs, but it's not the rumbling true laugh, instead it's a cocky barking noise that makes me even more uncomfortable. Suddenly I'm being pushed up against the wall as Cato once again traps me between his huge arms. He leans casually on his hands which are placed on either side of my head. His leg is touching mine and his face is so close I can feel his breath on my face and smell his cologne. The cologne is like a slap in the face. I'm pretty sure my cheeks drain of colour as my nose is filled with the spicy, fresh scent of pine needles. The smell of home, of safety and happiness. I'm so shocked by this contradiction, this gross wrongness that I completely miss the first part of what Cato has said.  
"I thought I told you not to touch me without permission." My voice comes out quiet and cold, but a little breathless too and I completely interrupt him. He only smirks and leans closer,

"And I thought I told you that if you dress like this, you're only asking to be touched. Is that what you want Seven? Do you want me to 'hold you and cherish you'?" he lets out a mocking laugh, "How about this then? You come back with me after the Interviews and we can work out the terms of this arrangement. I'll fulfil all those things dressing like this is desperately screaming for and I'll make sure you live longer in the arena. Think about it Aspen…" he leans close to whisper in my ear, "the protection of the Pack, and me for the night. What more could you want? You should get in and experience these things while you still can. I doubt you'll live much longer if you don't!"

I'm not even aware of what I'm doing. I'm shaking with anger and a little fear. I see red as my hands come up to shove him off me as hard as I possibly can, "Find a damned prostitute!" I spit at him furiously, "I won't join your stupid alliance, I don't need your protection and I'm not going to be your slut, you filthy son of a bitch!" I don't think I have ever hissed something with so much fury and venom before in my entire life. One part of me wants to pummel his face in and the other wants to curl up in the corner and cry, because apparently I'm doomed to relive the same fate over and over again. Cato looks angry, but he doesn't try to stop me as I stomp -as best I can in my shoes - back over to Linden, "Don't let me hit anything," is the first thing I say, it's ground out between clenched teeth, but my district partner looks far more concerned with purposefully standing in front of me, crossing his arms and glaring as hard as he can at Cato.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.

"Yes," I lie tensely.

"No you're not."

I don't answer, instead twisting my ring round and round my finger and concentrating on controlling my breathing. I can't quite work out what's just happened. I can't believe what's just happened. I look round the room desperately and am not surprised to find a lot of people watching me. I meet Brinna's eye for a moment and for a split second she gives me a small, sad, sympathetic smile. Then her mask comes back on and she gives me a sharp nod. The nod tells me that after witnessing what just happened with Cato, she has accepted my refusal of an alliance. The smile tells me that if we had been anywhere else, Brinna would have made a very good friend. I make a point of keeping my mouth shut and staying completely frozen in my position for as long as possible. If I don't move, if I don't make any noise, I won't draw attention to myself. It sort of works, eventually the Capitol people and most of the other tributes lose interest, their eyes start to flick unseeingly over me. Not his though. From his position beside Clove, Cato stares at me intensely. No matter how still I stand, he seems to be immune to my usual tactics of staying hidden. It's not until Anariel and the stylists reappear that I finally move and that's only because Ana tells me I need to get in line to parade onto the stage,

"Remember Rosilda!" Marcella snaps threateningly, "Don't you dare lift that dress!"

"If I break my neck before I even get into the arena, I'm going to haunt you for eternity Marcella," I warn her flatly.

"That's it, bring out the thorns, Rose!" Anariel gives me a cheesy thumbs up and Linden a quick hug, "You'll do great," she promises, "Now come along!"

"Boy!" Marcella hisses at Linden, "At least help her now! I'd rather not be responsible for a dead tribute!"

Linden hurries to offer me his arm, which I take gratefully, managing to summon up a slight smile to appease Marcella and Anariel who offer a few more nice words before hurrying off. Cato has finally looked way from me and is instead conversing quietly, but very intensely with a man who is even broader than Cato - though not as tall - and looks a lot more brutish. I can tell by the set of his shoulders that Cato is angry - at his mentor it seems - who looks closer to annoyed than furious. No other mentors are here, but the anger rolling off the pair is enough to stop them from getting sideways looks. Cato's jaw is set with determination and he's shaking his head and arguing firmly, but his mentor doesn't seem willing to budge. The sight makes me uneasy, which does nothing for my already adrenaline pumped body and jittery nerves. I can tell by the way the Capitol attendants are quietly speaking the the pair from One at the front of the line and people with headsets on are rushing around that we're going to be starting soon. The thought makes me only more panicky. I'm not ready! Not in the keyed-up, terrified-half-out-of-my-wits state I'm in!

"Hey Linden?" Although my heart is still racing and my hands are shaking, I succeed in making my voice light and casual.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, giving me his full attention and not quite able to hide his concern.

"Good luck for your interview," I say, giving him a small smile, "you're going to be great."

Linden colours slightly a smile tugging at his lips, "Crikey! Is that Rosilda Aspen giving little ol'me a compliment? Keep it up and I won't even make the arena," he laughs, "shock will kill me right here."

I shoulder bump him with a playful scowl, "I can say nice things," I argue, "Especially when they're true. Seriously, Lin, they're going to love you when you're done."

He grins at me for a long moment then abruptly it shifts into a more uneasy smile, "I'll tell you who they're going to love when I'm done. You'll blow their socks off Rose," he says quietly.

The way he says it makes me frown in confusion, feeling a little uneasy myself. Before I can say anything else though, the music starts up and District One begins to lead the way onto the stage. Linden doesn't look up though, he's still giving me the peculiar expression. He says something else, but I don't quite catch it over the music. Something along the lines of hoping I still do something when he's done. Giving him a weird look, I turn back and psych myself up for the journey onto the stage. Imagine tripping over my heels or the train of my dress and doing a face-plant on live television. What a great way to start to my interview that would be!

 **Bit of a shorter and more dialogue heavy chapter... next time we'll get to see the interviews, and the aftermath, consequences and reactions to what is said. Obviously this story isn't focusing on Katniss and Peeta, but bear in mind the canon of what happens in their interviews too. I would like to make a point of saying there is absolutely nothing attractive or romantic about Cato's behaviour in this chapter - this is him acting more as he is known in canon: as a sadist with serious anger issues. While I have tried to build up another side to Cato in the previous couple of chapters, it is important to remember that Cato has the potential to act like this too. On one hand Rose is struggling to reconcile these two different types of behaviour, but on a much stronger level she is scared and untrusting of the side to Cato that reminds her of her past. If Cato's behaviour in this chapter made you in any way uncomfortable or triggered anything, WARNING it's not going to be any better next chapter and I'd much rather you avoided reading, than put yourself at risk.  
Thanks for all the support, I love hearing what you think, so please review! xx**


	10. Chapter 10

**WARNING: This chapter contains a scene of slightly dubious consent and may contain triggers for abuse, sexual assault and violence.**

 *** Chapter Ten ***

The saving grace for my nerves is the fact that the lights are too bright to be able to see the live audience from the stage. It means that I can pretend there isn't hundred of thousands - millions - of eyes watching me, at least in the times when they're quiet. When we all parade out the noise is deafening. For the tributes from One and Two, it reaches similar levels at the beginning and end of their interview, but dulls down as the other tributes start their interviews.  
Glimmer must have lost her argument, because she oozes sex appeal, coming across as flirty and slightly ditzy. I know better than to count her out though. There's a trained killer behind her giggly facade.  
Despite the fact that her stylist is clearly playing up Clove's younger age, dressing her in a girly orange dress with light makeup that lessens the cat-like slant of her eyes and draws attention to rosy cheeks. The female tribute from Two's sarcastic arrogance is anything but sweet. She reminds me of Johanna in a way, with her razor sharp tongue not being held back at all.  
Likewise, arrogance flows off Cato in buckets. He goes for straight up ruthless and violent, commenting he can't wait to take out the 'waste of space' tributes in the Bloodbath and promising that the event will live up to it's gory title. Cato manages to base his entire interview on the coming days and his eagerness for them to arrive and I am grudgingly impressed despite myself because Caesar clearly wanted to bring up some of the gossip. He dramatically wishes for another three minutes in order to "grill Cato about a particular female tribute" after the buzzer has sounded. Cato just smirks cockily, throwing a wink in my direction as he moves back to his seat. I'm still watching long after the camera has moved away and get to see Clove and Cato exchange a glance of shared relief and approval. It makes me feel better to know they were nervous too and to know that they aren't quite as confident as they may have come off.  
I keep my face perfectly empty, cooly watching the extremely nervous boy from Three take the stage. The tributes seem to speed by. District Four follows Three and then Brinna was taking a seat besides Caesar. Her interview manages to make me smile, because she perfectly keeps with her image of being completely forgettable; giving clipped, nervous answers. If anyone was paying attention however, they'd notice that her replies frequently included at least one word regular people didn't use in conversation. They'd notice her posture was absolutely perfect and her gaze on Caesar was strong, even if she made a show of hesitating and answering quietly or in an anxious rush.

It's not until the young boy from Six in standing up to return to his seat after his interview that I realise I am next. My heart hammers in my chest and I quickly wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt before the camera can find me. Linden smiles at me encouragingly as Caesar announces me to the audience and it gives me the push I need to firmly fix on my mask. I half smile, holding my head high as I do my best to move gracefully down the stairs, elegantly navigating the train of my dress. I catch a glimpse of myself on the screen and am pleased that you can't see in my expression exactly how much concentration it is taking to walk in my heels. It's a situation not helped by the fact I have to pass right in front of the tributes from Two and I can just feel Cato's eyes burning into my body.  
The walk across the stage seems to take an eternity, but finally I get there and confidently take Caesar's offered hand as he introduces me once again. I smile prettily and give the "audience" a coy wave, before allowing Caesar to help me into my seat.  
"And finally we have before us, the girl the entire nation has been waiting to meet!" he exclaims, "and doesn't she look just gorgeous folks? An extremely beautiful young woman, with what seems to be a host of secrets and a fog of mystery!" he pauses, dramatically gazing out over the crowd, "perhaps we shall start to uncover some tonight and maybe get some answers on some of the hottest topics in town!  
"Now, Rosilda," the master of ceremonies begins as the crowd quietens and I laugh slightly at his introduction, "you look undeniably stunning and I doubt anyone could argue you didn't catch half the population's eye in your parade costume. Tell us, how do you like your stylist's angle?"

It's a question I haven't prepared for and I have to stall for a moment to come up with an answer, because truthfully, I hate that my body is being used to get me sponsors. It makes me feel dirty and unclean and I hate having people look at me like I'm a roast dinner or a slice of chocolate cake. That's not exactly what the Capitol will want to hear though. "I certainly prefer 'tree-spirit' to just straight up 'tree'," I say with a slightly breathless laugh, "Marcella is very talented and I love the sleeves on this dress. She certainly had her work cut out making me presentable, but I think she's managed amazingly!"

Caesar laughs, "She most certainly has, but I hardly agree with it being a tricky job!"

"Thank you Caesar," I give a mischievous smile, "But I couldn't possibly compete with you. Have you done something different with your hair this year? It looks magnificent!"

Well-known for his annually changing hair colour, Caesar laughs appreciatively and the audience joins in, "Charming and cheeky! Perhaps it's you with something to teach your mentor! Fantastic as Johanna may be, a good dose of charm wouldn't go amiss. I hope you don't mind me saying so Miss Mason!" The camera finds Johanna in the audience and she calmly lifts her middle finger into the air, before Finnick Odair on her other side slaps it down with an eye-roll.

"I think we can all agree that if Finnick hasn't rubbed off on her after all these years, she's a lost cause!" I smirk, blowing a kiss in her direction.

Caesar and the audience laugh again and I begin to relax slightly. Until the master of ceremonies starts up again with the questions, "Now it was your last year of being eligible for the reaping, Rosilda. Do you think you can tell us, how did you feel when your name was called?"

"I certainly wasn't prepared for it," I say with a wry chuckle, though inwardly I'm wondering what he expects me to say. "I was shocked of course, part of me was convinced that because I hadn't been reaped yet, I wouldn't be reaped then either," I pause and add in a guilty voice, "Mostly I was startled because I hadn't really been paying attention! The sound hadn't really been working so I'd been busy coming up with an argument to convince my father that seeing as I was no longer eligible for the Hunger Games, I should be treated like an adult and not have such a boringly early curfew."

Both Caesar and the audience laugh loudly and I flash a sheepish smile even as I wonder at how easily these people laugh. Seems like all they've done since I sat down. "Boringly early?" he repeats with a smile, "How would having a later curfew make things less boring?"

I'm reminded of the manner in which Laurel digs for gossip, open ended and suggestive questions that make her target spill all their secrets. Clever, I think of the Master of Ceremonies, allowing a smirk to spread across my face, showing Caesar I know exactly what he's trying to do. "I'm sure I could find all manner of exciting things to pass the time with," I say, making my words drip with suggestion and - I hope at least - a little bit of seduction, "I find that if you're brave enough to look, interesting things can be waiting just around the corner." I give a coy sort of smile in the direction of the audience.

"On that note," Caesar speaks, making me snap my attention back to him, "I've heard some interesting rumours of an… altercation," his eyebrows raise slightly and he glances in a knowing fashion towards the other tributes, "during training. I'm sure you've been sworn to secrecy, but anything you can tell us about that?"

It takes a fair bit of effort to stop my eyes from flicking back to the other tributes, my shoulders from tensing and my mouth from hardening, so I abandon the polite, pin-straight seating position Anariel beat into me and lean confidently back into the arm of the chair. I shrug eloquently and raise an eyebrow at Caesar, "Rumours are such untrustworthy things," I say lightly, choosing not to directly answer Caesar's question, "Although, perhaps I could clarify what it is that you've heard? I wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea after all," I turn my head to smile conspiratorially at the invisible audience.

Caesar looks mildly surprised, but grins eagerly and leans forward, lowering his voice as if it really is a secret. The audience of course laps it up, so I plaster a devious smirk on my face and incline my head towards him. "Rumour has it," Flickerman begins dramatically, "That you started a fight with a Career."

I can't help it this time, even though I know the camera will be flashing between my face and his, I lift my gaze to meet the intense and icy stare of the boy from Two. Cato's gaze unnerves me, it is so piercing, but I don't allow that to show on my face. I simply stare back at him defiantly as I answer Caesar's question. "I wouldn't say it was me who started it, but it was definitely me that ended it!" there is a small bite at my words, which I don't bother to cover up as Cato's lips twist in a sneer. I hold his gaze for a long moment, then roll my eyes and turn my attention back to Caesar who is making wordless gestures between Cato and I, much to the audience's amusement. I raise my eyebrows at him when he sees that I've caught his actions, but he merely smiles.

"And tell us Rosilda, do you have any thoughts on the Careers you'd like to share with us?" he asks and I get the impression he's digging again, "Are they a threat? Will we be seeing any alliances forming between you and them? I understand there have been offers? Several offers in fact if my backstage crew are to be believed!"

I ignore the last part of his question and hesitate before answering. When I do, the words pour out of my mouth in a long string that surprises me as much as it surprises Caesar and I think most of the people watching too. "I think it's always sad when a Career dies," silence greets this statement, but I don't wait for anyone to gather their thoughts, the words are still coming, "They're always so confident that they're going to win. They don't realise that the people they're making an alliance with are their biggest threats. I heard them everyday at training, it was always ' _when_ I win' not ' _if_ ', but they all say that. All of them believe with everything they have that they're going to survive. Sometimes none of them do, sometimes they get lucky and one of them does. The sad thing though," I continue, fearlessly addressing the one thing everyone knows, but I don't think anyone has ever acknowledged as bluntly as I do in that instance, "is that they spend their whole childhood training for it. They give up their entire lives, how can you have real friends or experience anything worth treasuring when you're surrounded by people you might have to kill? Or people who could kill you?"

My eyes lock on Cato's again and I feel my face harden as I glare at him with everything I have, "Me? I'm not afraid of dying, because I know that I've lived. I've experienced lots in my life and I'm happy with the things that I've done and the memories I have," I'm close to spitting with anger as I continue to stare straight at Cato, but I force my voice to stay cold, despite the fact my words might as well be directly for him, "I'm not going to disrespect and dishonour myself out of fear that I might not ever leave that arena and I'm not going to do anything out of pity," I add contemptuously, "because at the end of the day, you volunteered, you chose this.  
"Problem is, you can't have everything you want and I'm going to make damn sure some of those things that you believe you're 'entitled' to, never fall into your hands. You'd better get used to hearing the word 'no', because I am not going to _give in_! You can be damned sure of that."

There is a long silence that I don't really notice, because Cato looks absolutely furious and for some stupid and deranged reason this makes me feel smug. I can't find it in myself to regret my words at all, so I just stare poisonously back at him. This isn't quite by choice, I'm held motionless by Cato's burning gaze and am forced to watch as the fury fades to something I can only label as predatory hunger. I don't acknowledge the fear that is shooting through me as I realise I've probably just sky-rocketed to the top of every Careers kill list as I examine this new expression. He's smirking at me now and I have to repress a shudder. It's the same look he's been giving me periodically throughout the week. The one that makes me want to scrub myself raw in the shower and cover myself in a robe that reveals only my eyes and nose. It's the look that makes my heart pound and fire surge through my veins, even as my skin crawls. I swallow and almost have to look away, but then I catch a glimpse of the girl next to Cato. Clove is laughing out loud, smirking widely as she looks between me and Cato. When she sees me looking at her she sends me a cheery thumbs-up and then elbows Cato hard in the stomach. Her reaction brings the hint of a smirk back to my face and I turn back to the audience. As soon as I turn my head and unfreeze my body a deafening applause shoots through the room. It's so loud and I've half forgotten that there's a live audience of thousands, and millions of people watching me on television screens, so I can't help but jump slightly in shock, glancing at Caesar. I'm surprised to see he looks almost emotional…

I don't have time to ponder this thought as the buzzer abruptly sounds the end of my interview. Caesar gets to his feet and offers me his hand, I take it as I stand and he raises it high in the air, as if I'm already a champion. "Ladies and Gentleman! The beautiful, passionate and fiery Rosilda Aspen of District Seven! Seneca Crane was certainly right about you! You do not disappoint!"

I'm feeling a little lost and rather unnerved, but I manage a mysterious and hopefully alluring half smile for the audience and a gracious nod to Caesar, before I turn on my heel and navigate my way back to my seat. Despite the fact the interview is over and I proved that I'm more than just a pretty face with a good training score, I have not suddenly gained the ability to walk easily in the death traps I'm wearing. I consider really hiking up my long, flowy dress, but decide Marcella's wrath isn't worth it. Instead I follow Anariel's advice and take small steps, trying to move quickly, but not so quickly that I fall flat on my face. As before the path brings me in front of the Careers, a hazard that I would much appreciate not having to pay attention to along with the dangers posed by my gown, shoes and the stairs. I'm hardly halfway to the stairs when something so surprising occurs, that I nearly do stumble. As it happens, I freeze in a manner that makes me appear much more scared than I actually am.  
Cato suddenly launches himself from his seat and strides towards me. I half expect someone to tackle him to the ground for fear that he's going to try and kill me before we enter the arena, but inevitably everyone else is just as taken aback by his sudden actions as I am. I suddenly regain control of my limbs, just before he reaches me, and take a step forward. This step is supposed to show that I'm confident, that I'm not afraid of him and to prove I'm not a weakling to be easily intimidated. Instead it just puts me in the incredibly awkward position of being far too close to the unpredictable man. We're so close that my chest is nearly touching his and I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye-contact. Even with heels on, he's taller than me. Every instinct of self-preservation is screaming at me to step back, to put a lot more distance between us, to tense and drop into a defensive stance. I can't do that though, so instead I harden my expression and try to push past him. It's almost laughable how impossible that is. I've forgotten that he's a hulking bear in terms of strength to my… wild cat. The sudden comparison that my thoughts have made between myself as a cougar and him as a grizzly, brings a slight smirk to my face that is entirely natural as well as entirely inappropriate given the current situation. Cato's hands have snapped out and are gripping my upper arms tightly, refusing to let me move away from him, every single camera in the room is probably trained on us, my instincts are still screaming at my idiocy and here I am, smirking at him.

 _Great idea Rose, antagonise the deadliest tribute in the whole damn Games._

Sometimes my own lack of self-preservation or regard for the consequences of my actions astounds me. All I can do now is stay completely still and not break eye-contact. Cato is like a wild animal, unpredictable and violent, yet even the wildest and deadliest of animals can be overcome so long as you play your cards right. Cato has not spoken, nor has he moved since grabbing my arms. His expression is guarded, but his eyes roam my face and body, as piercing as ever, but impossible to read. When another moment passes and he still has not done anything other than stare at me, I subtly try to move out of his grip. Immediately his hands tighten and his eyes snap back to my face. I freeze. For once obeying my instincts. "Not so confident now, are we District Seven?" he finally growls, with the hint of a smirk in his voice. I see red for a second, but can only scowl at him as darkly as I dare. He moves, not releasing his grip on my arms and stepping in even closer to me. Our bodies are actually touching now and I can't help but tense entirely and his drops his head, pressing his mouth to my ear and whispering, "You're mine."

I'm vaguely aware of him releasing my arms and instead grasping my hand, lifting it and placing it on the crook of his elbow. He grips my wrist tightly with his other hand and draws me extremely close to him as he escorts me back to my seat. He's so strong that he can half lift me, even in the position we're in, up the stairs. I'm so overcome with frustration, anger and more than a little fear that I'm barely aware of walking, let alone worrying about tripping over. The audience is going wild, though I'm not sure why because the expression on my face - which I catch sight of on the big screens - can only be described as black. I look terribly angry, yet there's something about my eyes and mouth that hints at something much more. While I'm glad that none of the numbing terror I'm feeling is showing on my face, I look like I loathe Cato with every part of me, like I could kill him right there and enjoy it. I look savage, like a sadistic murderer. With that thought, I suddenly relax my tense shoulders and wipe my face completely clear. When we reach my seat, I turn to Cato and smirk with just the right amount of mocking as I bob a graceful curtsey, "Who says chivalry is dead?"

Cato's eyes flash and we stare at each other for a minute. I know that there is no way he is going to bow, no matter how much the Capitol would lap it up. He stares at me for a long moment, but something about his expression different to before. He looks almost confused and conflicted. Then, just as abruptly as he stood up, Cato turns, raises a hand to the audience and proceeds back to his seat, with a triumphant sort of smirk on his face. I sit down hard and glance at Linden, he looks incredibly concerned and seems to be trying to say something without actually saying it. I frown at him and shake my head slightly as he cocks one eye-brow at me. He looks slightly annoyed and I huff lightly. _I'm not freaking telepathic, Linden._ He proceeds to make a series of gestures and faces then looks at me quizzically, as if I'm somehow supposed to derive meaning from it. I just stare at him blankly. Finally he shoves his finger at the back of Cato's head with a murderous expression on his face, then points his finger at me, then mimes slitting his throat. Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I scowl at him and redirect my attention to the front only to see that Caesar is looking at us pointedly and the camera is showing both mine and Linden's faces. My district partner is rolling his eyes at me, looking rather annoyed, so I reach over and smack his knee.  
"It's your turn Pinecone-Head."

He pauses to shoot me an exasperated look then finally acknowledges Caesar, the audience and the cameras. He stands and moves passed me, making a gesture that I interpret as, What can you do? The audience laughs and the cameras flick to me, so I shake my head in a disgruntled sort of way, before focusing my attention on Linden. He strikes up a playful sort of conversation with Caesar - about me of all things.  
"She's definitely a strange one," Linden grins, glancing up at me, when Caesar asks what sort of relationship we have, "We weren't really… friends before the Reaping," my face goes blank and even Linden looks a little uncomfortable, "but I must say, I've always wanted to get to know her."  
I want to gasp or scoff, but I settle for a vaguely incredulous expression. Social suicide, that's what Linden just committed. In District Seven at least. "She's always been a bit different," he continues, "A lot of boys liked her, but she's got a…" he glances my way and laughs slightly, "well the death glare for one thing." I'm not even aware that I'm scowling, but I try to smooth my expression over as he continues. "And she's got a sharp tongue," he adds, "turned them all down, she did. Every single one," there's a firmness about these words that gives them a significance nobody in the Capitol will understand. I feel a surge of affection for my district partner however. He's never asked me about what happened four years ago, it's hardly been touched on, yet for some reason he's not only alluding to it now, but he's throwing his lot in with me. I wonder how the people back home will react to this subtle reminder of my claims, but quickly decide it doesn't really matter.

"Probably could have had her pick of any boy in the district," Linden continues with a sad sort of smile that once again speaks volumes in significance to me, "not that any would be good enough for her."

I'm feeling rather uncomfortable now, but I can't take my eyes off Linden. He glances up and meets my eye almost apologetically, which makes me frown. I'm suddenly terrified he's going to tell all of Panem, including all the other tributes what happened to me. His words are dangerously close to an area of my past that I'd really rather not relive on national television. He's stirring up memories I desperately want to forget. I narrow my eyes at Linden, what the hell is he doing?

"So are things… romantic between you two?" Caesar asks after a moment.

I snap my eyes to him. How can he possibly be thinking about romance at a time like this? All but one tribute is going to be dead very soon. It actually makes me sick, this reminder that all this is to the Capitol is entertainment. They just want a good show. It's happened before obviously. Throw a bunch of hormonal and lustful teenagers into a deadly situation and you're going to get a few hook-ups. Hell that is exactly what Cato implied to me before the interviews and what Capitol reporters have been hinting at all week. Anger is coiling inside me like a cobra, I'm going to strike out soon. I've been suppressing the fury for days, but I'm very close to the breaking point now.

"No!" Linden stresses, "Definitely not! If anything she's more like another annoying sister I never wanted! I feel protective of her, and responsible for stopping her from doing anything too stupid, if that makes sense. Although," he rolls his eyes again, "I can't say that I've succeeded. Reckless and stupid doesn't even begin to describe what Rose has gotten up to over the last few days. No sane person starts arguments with Johanna Mason!" he laughs and looks over at me again, "Or is quite so comfortable on a small ledge at the top of a windy building. She's a free spirit, that's for sure. Try and tell her she can't and she will, just to prove you wrong."  
I put a lid on my fury quickly and poke my tongue out at him. Though I'm a little touched at the sentiment and by the ringing truth in his statement. Being in a life or death situation? Yeah, it leaves you desperate for any sort of affection. Linden and I had definitely hit it off on a good note, but that was not something I'd wanted. It was only going to make the next days harder. Any sort of emotional connection to anyone in the arena would.  
"I think that's where the… er… head butting with Johanna and er… other people comes from…" Linden continues and determinedly avoids looking at me or at any of the other tributes, but Caesar nods knowingly, "She's stubborn to the point of stupid some times, but normally she's in control of her temper. She just doesn't like being seen as weak."

I frown and watch tensely as Caesar immediately pounces on this tidbit of information. "So you'd say that someone is doing a good job at getting under her skin?"

Linden frowns at the question too, looking a little uneasy,"She's in this to win Caesar," he says after a moment's pause, "And she's smart enough to know that to win she needs Johanna Mason on her side. The only way you earn Johanna's respect is by standing up to her. I think the same thing is being applied to her interactions with others too. She wants respect and she wants people to take her seriously, because like I said, Rose isn't one to lie down and die, she will keep fighting."  
I can't take my eyes off my district partner. There's dogged determination in his face and I can't help but wonder if he's planned this in some way. He's focused on me his entire interview and I don't know how I feel about it. On one hand he's giving the entire country a much closer look at me and it sort of makes my skin crawl, but on the other he's selling me. He's talking me up and I don't know why. The conversation we had just before coming on stage abruptly makes a little more sense as I recall what he'd said that I hadn't quite heard. Almost as if he was apologising and asking for forgiveness ahead of time. Maybe he had been planning this. It wasn't what he'd gone over with Hillier, but then Linden had been acting a little strange all day. It almost reminded me of the way Fletcher sometimes got… especially when he heard about something someone had said that implied I was lying about what had happened to me. It almost made me laugh because Fletcher got more touchy about the insults than I did. I'd gotten used to them, he still wanted to go out and fight for me. Defend my honour and protect me. That was almost what Linden was doing. It was as if he'd decided he wanted to use his interview not to try and save himself, but instead to try and save me.  
"Fighting is something Rosilda Aspen is very good at," Linden continues in the same sad sort of tone, "Fighting for survival, fighting for respect, fighting against people who everyone else thinks are better than her. This isn't completely a new experience for her and even though she'll probably punch me for saying it," he takes a deep breath, "I know that she can win and if there's anyway I can help her do that, then I will. She's told me at least fifty times over the last week that we should both make the most of every second of time we have, but that's not something new for her. Rosilda Aspen actually lives and that's more than almost anyone else can say. For that reason alone she deserves to survive, but you'll see what I mean," he turns to smile at the audience, "you can't help it. She grows on you."

"So, correct me if I'm wrong Linden," Caesar begins his eyes narrowed and his full concentration fixed on Linden, "But are you saying that you want her to win over you?"

Linden gets a small frown on his face at the questions and shakes his head slowly, "If I had a real shot at winning this thing maybe it'd be different," he shrugs, "I'm not going to follow her around waiting to martyr myself, but if the opportunity comes and it has to be her or me… I just know who I'd pick."

I'm doing my very best to hide the emotions on my face, but I'm not sure I'm doing a good job. It scares me what he's said, but it also makes me feel guilty. Linden has a family and a life to go back to same as me and I hate that I've done something to make him decide my life is worth more than his. I don't know how to react, I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do. The tightening pressure in my chest is back again. I can't wait to get out of here, the lack of fresh air is stifling me. This sudden thought makes my throat tighten and I have to concentrate hard so as not to panic and start gasping for air. It's all too much, first Brinna's proposal of an alliance, then Cato, who as usual has completely thrown me off - more than once in the past few hours - and now Linden has blind-sided me too. It's like I've reached maximum capacity of what I can deal with tonight and my brain just wants to shut off to process and recover.

I don't notice Linden return to his seat, nor do I notice as the tributes from Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven and Twelve have their interviews. It's not until the first notes of the anthem play and my legs automatically take me to my feet that I register the event is over. We tributes parade off the stage and I manage to conjure a smirk and a hopefully confident, yet alluring saunter, but as soon as we are out of sight of the cameras, I'm wrenching my shoes off, hitching up my skirt and striding forward. I do glance around for Johanna, but when I don't see her, I march straight for the lifts. I'm the first one to reach them and the first thing I do is jab the 'door close' button. Unfortunately I'm not quick enough. A hand appears just as I start to relax and the doors hiss open again. I'm immediately on my guard and mentally cursing every single thing on the damn planet when I see Cato's icy gaze. He hits the 'door close' button and turns to glower menacingly at the other approaching tributes, firmly planted between me and the closing doors. I catch Linden's eye, but he's too far away to do anything but watch in horror as the doors close on me and the boy who wants to kill me.

"District Two," I acknowledge warily, wondering if the elevator has a camera in it.

He snorts and whips around. Before I can blink I find myself pressed against the wall of the elevator. He's pinning me by my throat without actually cutting off my air supply, something that I know could easily change. His legs stand on either side of mine and his entire body is flush against me. Because I've taken my shoes off, I'm once again much shorter than him, but his hand at my neck is forcing my gaze upwards to where he is standing over me. When I meet his gaze, I actually feel my heart rate skyrocket. He's everywhere. All around me. It's all him. His scent, pine, the slap to the face it was before, has lessened and now the familiar aroma assaults my sense of smell. It makes me want to relax, to bury my face in his shoulder and breathe in the comforting scent of home. Unbidden my body is reacting to him and I don't like it at all. His touch sets my skin on fire and right now he's all over me. All I can hear is his slightly ragged breathing. All I can see is his piercing eyes, framed by sinfully long eyelashes that I can't quite reconcile with the rest of his statuesque appearance. His scent makes me almost delirious with desire - not for him, but for the comfort of home. He's so close I can almost imagine I can taste him. The thought makes me drag my tongue over my lower lip. Before I can truly gauge if I can actually taste him on the air, Cato is demanding my attention. He growls slightly and I snap my gaze back to him, reminding myself I could be dead with one squeeze and twist.

"I've told you before," he rumbles, and I actually shiver as I feel his breath on my face, "Call me Cato." It's a command, but with him this close to me, it's all I can do to not let my knees buckle. He's everywhere, I'm drowning in him and it's not good. My senses are completely overloaded, my brain is overheating and instead of feeling terrified, I want to press closer to him.

 _What is_ wrong _with you, Rose?_

"Why?" the strength of my voice astounds me, and I repeat the word again just to prove to myself as much as to him, that I haven't lost the ability to speak coherently, "Why does it matter what I call you?"

For a moment his grip tightens and his eyes flash, but then his other hand finds my hip. It rests gently, yet firmly there, burning my skin through the thin material of the gown. The touch is almost possessive and while a large part of me wants to pull away from it, I have nowhere to go and another part, that I'm desperately trying to squash, is revelling in the physical contact. I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then drop my eyes to attempt to look down at his hand. His fingers suddenly dig into my skin at my hip and he forces my chin back up to meet his gaze once more. Once I do, defiantly staring back at him, he lowers his head and puts his mouth right beside my ear. His breath is warm on my cheek, but it's the fact that his lips brush the skin just behind my ear that drives me crazy. I'm turning to butter in his presence, as if he is the summer sun, my body refuses to acknowledge my brain screaming that he's the enemy and I'm melting. I remember the way his body ghosted behind mine when he was teaching me to throw the spear, the feelings that evoked and the way he treated me: with respect and kindness. My body remembers that, to some extent even my heart, it's just self preservation screaming at me to move. Despite this the tentative, but growing unflinching certainty that he won't actually hurt me is consuming all rational thought I have left. If he was going to hurt me, he would have done so already. If he tries anything else, I'm confident enough in myself to know that I could fight him off. Maybe it's this that makes me brave - or possibly just stupid.

"Because," he growls and for the first time there's just a small hint of playfulness and teasing, "You belong to me Seven!"

"Are there more that belong to you, or am I just special?" I say instead, somehow retaining the capability for sounding aloof, even though my heart is beating so fast I'm afraid it'll just give out and my breathing is becoming as ragged as his. I'm rewarded for my ability to put a coherent sentence together and still sound vaguely impressive - although my voice is strangely low and husky, perhaps from the pressure at my throat - by Cato's face darkening again and his grip tightening. His mouth twists and he leans onto me heavily. I'm pinned completely beneath his weight and breathing actually requires a bit of effort. Fear shoots through me, not helping the confusing mess of emotions, instincts and reactions my body is going through, but I try not to let it show as I continue to stare at him. I can't move my head and I refuse to look away. I will not submit to him. He won't hurt me. He won't.

"You think you can talk to me like that? Order me?" he barks, lips pulling into an ugly sneer, "Oh no Seven, you're dangerously wrong! You. Are. Mine."

He responded well to my calm tone, so I try to channel a softer expression onto my face as I gaze up at him. I'm actually not entirely sure what it is he wants me to say and I get the impression he's not entirely sure either, so when he loosens his hold on my throat to allow me to speak, I instead ask in a conversational tone, "So what is it that makes me special Two?" I allow a glint of amusement to enter my eye, "Are you threatened by me?"

I'm not surprised when Cato immediately dismisses the idea, though I am surprised that it's with a growl and an angry shake of his head rather than words. He is distracted by something, but his grip on my neck means I can't look down to see what it is. I'm not sure I can get words out of my mouth, and it's taking a lot of effort to suck air into my lungs, so I don't try to speak again. Instead I just wait as his hand moves slightly at my neck. It's not until I realise he's feeling my pulse that I notice just how fast my heart is hammering. The expression on Cato's face can only be described as smug, he's found the proof that he is affecting me and now he's ready to capitalise on it. A long moment drags by before he does anything else, his grip doesn't slacken, but most of the fury drains from his face. It's replaced by a gleam in his eye that is familiar, it's the same sparkle that appears when he laughs. It's a thread of familiarity and humanisation suddenly appearing on his face, immediately softening it to the face of the person who helped me, the person I might have gone so far as to call a friend had it not been the same face of a person who treated me awfully. Is it possible to be too people at once? Fancy Capitol doctors would probably say yes, I'm not so sure. The curtain that made him unfamiliar could just as easily be called a mask. I'm quite familiar with projecting emotions and impressions onto my face that don't accurately represent my true thoughts. I wonder if Cato is too, then I wonder how I'd feel about having that in common with him.

"Rosilda."

His voice, velvety and smooth speaks my name in a way nobody else has before. I am not expecting it and the shudder that runs through my entire body is extremely obvious. Cato is obviously very pleased with my reaction, because he lowers his mouth to the skin behind my ear again. I am hot and feverish and the fact that he drags his teeth lightly up my neck, before growling right into my ear and speaking so his lips brush my skin tauntingly is sending tingles of electricity all over my body and makes my breath catch in my throat.  
"This is where you belong, right here."  
Right here in his arms. Protected from the outside world by his possessive and protective hold. I loathe myself for my weakness, but I can't stop the way I shiver, or the fact my knees would have buckled had he not been pressed so tightly against me. I can stop the whine in my throat and I do, but Cato must feel the way my neck flexes, because he chuckles quietly. Then suddenly, I am completely and utterly gone. Cato presses a kiss to the skin behind my ear, then roughly drags his teeth down my neck to the softer area at the curve of my throat. All the tension disappears and a small mewl escapes my throat as he nips and sucks at the skin there. I sag back against the wall, relying on his strength alone to hold me up. My thoughts are scattered. Everything is irrelevant and I am barely aware of anything except him.

"Cato."

It's a breath of sound, barely there, but I know he has heard it, because the hand disappears from my neck. Instead his strong arms wrap around my waist and I am lifted off my feet and pressed roughly back against the wall. He holds my gaze for barely a moment. Long enough for me to register his eyes are dark and hooded and that his pupils are incredibly dilated, his expression filled with hunger. Long enough for me to have said no. Long enough for me to have told him to stop. Long enough to have put to use all those skills I worked hard at every day, long enough that I probably could have fought him off. But I don't say a word, I can barely think straight because within me, the same hunger is growing. I've never wanted someone as much as I want him at that moment. I have a split second to register I am pathetically stupid, then his lips smash down on mine, rough and demanding and I literally lose the ability to think. He doesn't immediately shove his tongue down my throat, but his mouth is open and his teeth nip at my lip. Then just as I think I'm actually going to pass out from lack of oxygen, he pulls back. I gasp for breath, my chest heaving, but then he is pressing his lips directly to my pulse point and I'm lost. Nothing remains. It's just him. I'm drowning in the sensations I feel and a part of me registers the irony.

 _The boy who will probably kill me is the first person to ever make me feel so alive._

 **Thank you for reading! I'm not sure if the warning at the beginning is justified or not, but thought it was better to be safe. I hope I didn't put too many people off! Please let me know what you think of this chapter and any ideas you may have for what will happen next...**


	11. Chapter 11

*** Chapter Eleven ***

Johanna finds me not long after. I doubt it was hard, the bang of my shoes, followed by the smash of the fancy Capitol vase hitting the wall would have been dead giveaways. I'm disgusted with myself, equally furious at both myself and the arrogant bastard from Two. It had taken a while, but eventually my brain began working enough for me to untangle my hands from his hair and instead shove him away with all my strength. Cato had yelled at me and I'd screamed back. He'd offered me the deal he'd implied before the interviews with much less mincing of words. The message was clear: 'Lie on your back and spread your legs; you'll live longer with my protection'.  
Absolutely furious I'd raged viciously at him, but it wasn't until he tried to grab me and kiss me again that I'd snapped. It reminded me too much of another time, another boy and another place. Up until then, despite Cato's size and rough, aggressive nature, it hadn't felt like that. I'd never felt as weak, as helpless or as violated as I had that night. But the angry accusation on his face, as he tried to grab me, was exactly like Wren. I'd panicked and slapped him as hard as I could. A punch would have been more effective, but it was like all the training had left me. It was like I was a scared little girl again, way out of her depth, helpless, weak. Still, I was much stronger than I had been and from the expression on Cato's face, I would say I'd hurt him quite a bit. It wasn't the physical hurt that worried me though, damaged pride was much more dangerous. Lucky for me the elevator had stopped and the doors had finally opened. I'd hit the 'door close' button as I'd raced out and had turned just in time to see Cato lunge forward with a strange expression on his face as the doors slid shut. I'd stood frozen in fear for a few moments, waiting to see if he would open the doors and follow me. He didn't, but that fear quickly give way to self-disgust and fury. With a roar of rage I'd turned and hurled my shoes at the closed elevator door, then seized the vase and thrown it at the opposite wall. It didn't make me feel better and I'd sunk to the floor, my head in my hands. Not even when I hear Johanna's footsteps do I move, though I do tense slightly. Not when she insults me or sarcastically asks if I want a tissue. Not even when she kicks the wall and turns to leave. I only look up when her footsteps suddenly stop then stomp back towards me.

"Get up!" She seizes my arm and drags me to my feet. I can't stop the small noise of pain that escapes my throat and Johanna looks disgusted for a moment, until she sees the indigo bruises on my arms. She pauses in her tirade of insults and verbal jabs to look me over. I do the same and am not really surprised to see that the material of my dress is ripped at my throat. Though I don't remember it happening, it makes sense because there was definitely no barrier between his mouth and my skin. My hair is more or less untouched, but with the amount of spray and setting gel in it, I would be surprised if it was. There are fingermark bruises at the top of my arms where Cato grabbed me during the interviews, and I know that the state of my neck is probably shameful. Marks from where his fingers bit into my skin and marks from his mouth and teeth. I suddenly find I can't meet Johanna's eye. I straighten my shoulders and hold my head high, but I stare resolutely at the wall. All I want to do is flee to the shower and scrub myself until I can no longer feel his hands on my skin. The thought makes me shudder and I tighten my jaw.

"You did well tonight." This unexpected praise surprises me enough that I turn to look at Johanna. Her voice is calm and even and for once she sounds sincere. She flashes me a grim smile and touches her hand to my shoulder for a moment.

"Rose!" Linden appears from the dining room at a run, "Gosh you're a sight for sore eyes! I was so worried! Are you okay?" His relief at seeing me dims somewhat as he pauses to take in my bedraggled appearance. I spare him a small grimace before Johanna reclaims my attention.

"Go shower and then meet us in the dining room," she says, her lips curling in her familiar mocking smirk, "We might as well try and save your doomed arse Thorns."

I'm strangely comforted by her efforts and nod, glancing in Linden's direction once before turning and practically fleeing for my bathroom. I rip the dress off the moment I enter my bedroom and begin pulling pins from my hair. I don't pause as I step into the shower, slamming the button for hot water and randomly pushing more and more. Soon I can barely see through the steam and foamy bubbles pouring from the different faucets. I relentlessly scrub away the makeup and body paint and wash my hair several times to get all the gunk in it out. It's only when I realise that I have scrubbed my skin to a raw red, that I finally step out of the shower. I put my hand on the hair de-tangler as the hot air dries me off, then slather some moisturiser on my tormented skin. I put off looking in the mirror for a long time, but finally I decide it's best to know. With a deep breath, I lift my eyes and starting at my feet drag my eyes up my body. There's a bruise of the exact same shape to the ones on my arms on my hip, it's darker however, proof of exactly how tightly his fingers were gripping me when he escorted me back to my seat after my interview. When my eyes finally reach my neck I have to grip the basin hard. The mark at my pulse point is what my eyes catch first. It's vicious. Angry purple-red and teeth marks are clearly visible. It's not a love-bite or a hickey. It's a branding, a physical expression of the fact that Cato has singled me out and claimed me as his. There is another faint red mark at the base of my throat, near the top of my collar bone and when I push my hair aside to examine the skin behind my ear I see there's another mark there. All a result of his teeth and mouth. The dark marks around my throat stand out in a different way. They're a blue-purple and could almost be mistaken for shadows, except the bathroom lights are placed in a way to avoid shadows on the face.  
I'm strangely numb as I examine the marks left on my body. The marks I let him put there - it's impossible to feel worse about that than I did before. As much as I would like to deny it, I enjoyed kissing Cato. It's not the same as Wren, not in the least. The shame and rage has burnt out. I'm filled with a cool sort of acceptance. He's marked me. He's claimed me. He thinks I belong to him. But I don't. I'm not playing his game, I'm playing my own. I'm not going to cower away and wait for him to kill me, I'm in it to win. I won't be the weak, defenceless little girl who cried silently and tried to hold onto consciousness as her virginity was stolen from her. I'm not the broken shell who was cast aside when all but a select few refused to believe me. I'm not the sweet and innocent Rosie Aspen anymore. I'm not the broken and terrified girl who was raped either. I'm Rosilda. The woman who had her future snatched from her, but refused to give up. I'm the Tribute from Seven. The girl who fought a Career in training, refused to compromise her morals and who scored a ten in training. I'm fighting to get home to my family, for the life I still have to live and for the little girl who couldn't protect herself. I've changed in the last three years and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it.

 _Cato is_ nothing _to you, Rose. Don't let him break you apart._

I idly twist my ring around my finger as I wait for Marcella to appear. I'm in the Stockyard. The Games are only moments away. After the strategy talk Linden and I had with Johanna and Hillier, I'd taken the sleeping pill Johanna helpfully provided and conked it. It was the best sleep I'd had in years, but I'd felt almost hungover when Marcella shook me awake, going through the routine in a haze. It was only when I was lead into the launch room that I really woke up, realising exactly what was happening.  
I vaguely remembered Johanna squeezing my shoulder and mockingly telling me now was the time to really put out my thorns. I remembered getting a vague nod from Hillier as he firmly lead Linden away. Like me Linden had been rather dazed, and we'd barely made eye-contact before we were being pulled in opposite directions. I was hustled onto a hovercraft, had food and water shoved down my throat and then escorted to the room I was in now for Marcella to dress me before I was shipped off to the arena. I snort and get to my feet. It really is like we're animals on our way to the slaughter house. To wake myself up I pace the room, dragging my fingers through my long hair and running things over in my head. Johanna - in one of her rare moments of deadly seriousness - had given Linden and I rules to remember and I choose to focus on them now.  
Number one: Stop and assess. Be aware of my surroundings, derive meaning from them, always be on my guard, don't rush into things without thinking carefully.  
Number two: Keep everything I need to survive close. Find water and don't stray too far from it, sleep with my weapons on me and my supplies packed for an easy escape.  
Number three: Kill or be killed.  
It's this point that Johanna drummed into my head the most. In her blunt way she informed me I'd be dead within days if I got what she called 'romanticised ideas of an angel with sunshine coming out its arse' into my head.  
"Heroes don't win the Hunger Games. Kill them before they kill you. Kill them quickly and don't mess around making them angry. Arrogance is the fastest way to die in the arena. Infection and dehydration are the slowest, but if there's a brain in that pretty head of yours you'll remember rules one and two and that won't matter."  
The fourth rule was one that the mocking-sarcastic Johanna reappeared to give me, her lips twisting in a smirk that reminded me she was a victor of the Games; a survivor, a master of deception, an experienced killer.  
Number four: Keep as much distance between yourself and Cato as you damn well can.  
I do not dwell on that particular topic, it has occupied enough of my thoughts over the last week and I'm determined to put it aside and focus on the Games. I can't afford to be distracted by a disturbing, aggressive and arrogant Career. Especially not one that makes my heart race, my knees shake and my brain turn to mush. He takes away my bravado, my confident and mysterious face, he makes me feel… raw and bare, like I'm walking around naked. He can be gentle and sympathetic, read me like a book and almost make me feel like I'm having fun. Only, he's not always like that. He's dangerous; he's gotten into my head, physically marked me as his, threatened to kill me, and offered me protection. He's a walking contradiction; as surely as if he's got two personalities, I have no idea what to expect from him.  
For a moment I think about his skin on mine, feverish kisses and burning fingers trailing over my body… _Stop it Rose_. I kick half-heartedly at the wall then turn back to keep pacing.  
"He wants to kill you stupid girl," I mutter to myself, "You should want to kill him for the things he's said." I freeze. You _should_ want to… Before I can follow this extremely alarming line of thought, the door is thrown open and Marcella stalks in with a familiar harried expression.

"These people!" she squarks at me, slamming the door behind her so hard it shakes in it's frame, "No appreciation for beauty! I'm sorry Rosilda, but they don't allow any sort of make-up in the arena-"

"Make-up?" I repeat blankly.

Marcella's expression softens slightly and she stops in front of me, "Johanna thought you might want some, for the bloodbath at least."

I'm still not sure what she means, especially since my grumpy, antiestablishment mentor was the one who suggested it. She hates the television side of the games, the costumes and interviews, the facade of beauty and fame, "Why would Johanna ask you to-" I stop talking as it clicks and my hand flies to my neck and the angry marks on it, "Oh." Marcella looks genuinely sympathetic, it's an expression I haven't seen on a Capitol citizen's face before, and the fact that she doesn't speak, just touches my arm lightly endears her to me more than any fancy costume or honeyed words ever could. "It doesn't matter," I say straightening my shoulders, "Make-up won't last long, if I hide it now, it will just draw more attention when the make-up's gone. Besides," I refuse to blush, instead holding on to the cool anger I feel, "He knew exactly what he was doing. If I hide them, I'm just showing him that I do actually care-"

I stop and turn away, annoyed at myself. I hear Marcella move behind me and after a few moments of composing myself, I turn back to see the clothes she is offering me. Tawny trousers and a light green shirt. I feel a smile cross my face as I take in the familiar colours. Home. "Trees," Marcella notes, sending a smile my way.

I nod my agreement and in a very Cato-esque moment, murmur, "Mine."

I change quickly into the clothes, listening as Marcella provides all the information she can about the clothes. The fabric of the t-shirt and trousers are light and breathable she tells me, but the black jacket is both water-proof and heat reflective. Hot days, cold nights. Possibly rain. The boots are made of soft brown leather, they're sturdy, but are more refined than my grubby work boots back home. Still the clothes are some-what familiar; they're comfortable and easy to move in.

"The jacket rustles," I note with a frown.

Marcella scowls and mutters something about a deliberate design flaw as she sits me down and deftly fixes my hair. A tight braid on either side of my head to take care of the short bits around my face, coming back into a long ponytail. While my hair has always been my secret vanity, the one thing about my appearance that I am proud of, I suddenly see it as a weakness. What if another tribute grabs me by my hair in a fight?  
"Don't cut your hair," Marcella suddenly growls, yanking on it hard, "It's the only thing I don't have to constantly fix!"

Did I say that aloud? I must have, because I seriously doubt Marcella is hiding any telepathic super powers. "Can you tie it in a bun, instead?" I ask.

Marcella grumbles, but does as I've asked, fixing it tightly, before grudgingly admitting my face is definitely pretty enough to pull it off. I wrinkle my nose at this, but don't answer. The nerves are starting to kick in and I've taken to fiddling with my ring once more. A robotic voice suddenly declares that there's only a minute to launch and I tense, "Rosilda." I take a deep breath and turn to look at Marcella. She smiles slightly and takes my hands in hers, "I might have spent the last week trying to turn you into a flower in full bloom, but I think the prettiest roses are the ones with thorns. And you, my dear, are the most beautiful rose I've ever had to dress."

I'm truly touched, because I know that this is a big compliment coming from her. I'm also grateful, because it does a lot to settle my nerves. The play on my name has become something I'm familiar with, something I do myself and something that comforts me, "It's hard not to be beautiful when you have a stylist with a gift as strong as yours. I'm sorry about the interview dress… I really did love it and I didn't mean to rip it."

I think she hears the slight bitterness in my voice, because she merely thanks me, tells me not to worry and squeezes my hand, "Good luck Rose."

I give her one last smile and walk over to the pedestal that is going to take me up into the arena. It is announced that there are ten seconds until launch just as I step onto it. I close my eyes and focus on keeping my breathing deep and steady. I don't open them until I begin to move, instead looking up towards the light so my eyes will adjust faster. I'm settling into my fight mentality, my breathing steady and controlled, my senses working overtime to take everything in and my mind sharp and clear. I'm completely and utterly focused. The minute the roof opens above me, I'm blinking rapidly and squinting around to take in my surroundings. Blinding sun and blue sky above. Lake behind me and to my left - Water. Cliff to my right. Cornucopia and grassy field directly in front of me and–  
My eyes narrow in on the trees and I curse quietly as I realise I am on the complete opposite side to the forest. I will have to run straight into the bloodbath to reach them. I do another sweep of the arena, noting the way the lake stretches, disappearing into the trees, which seem to take up most of the arena. I look dubiously towards the cliff, which is the closest notable feature to me. I can't see anything beyond it, but I know there must be something, they wouldn't put the cornucopia in a corner of the arena. I consider my options. The trees are where I want to be, but I have to run straight into hell to get there. The cliff is giving me funny vibes and my instincts are normally right - if only I chose to listen to them - but it's the closest escape. I turn to the lake. I can swim, not as well as the tributes from Four I'm sure, but the huge river running straight through Seven that we use to transport the logs to the paper and furniture factories is no stranger to me. Of course the water is freezing at most times of the year, but I've definitely spent my share of time in it - whether by choice or not. I twist my ring and chew the inside of my cheek anxiously and having now decided that I will cut across to the lake and get to the trees that way, I turn my attention to the other tributes, the cornucopia and the supplies. _Forty seconds left Rose_.  
I'm slightly startled to realise I'm right next to Thresh, the huge, intimidating boy from Eleven, and it makes the sight of the tiny, frail girl from Three on my other side a bit of a relief. The fact that Thresh is standing in the way of the path I would have to take to the cliff and that he's looking in that direction with a determined expression makes me all the more confident with my plan. He abruptly swings his head towards me and for a fleeting moment we make eye-contact. His face is already set in a dark glower, but it hardens more at the sight of me, his lips pulling back into a hateful snarl. His gaze flicks down to take in the eye-catching bruises on my neck, but I turn my back and refuse to let him distract me.  
I scan the other tributes I can see, spotting Peeta, the boy from Twelve who I spoke to once at training and who declared his love for his district partner in the interviews the night before. It's a true testament to how much I zoned out that I completely missed that. Though it certainly earned me a verbal lashing I'd never forget when Johanna figured out I was gasping in genuine surprise when it was mentioned in our final strategy meeting. I also see Glimmer, the reluctant beauty queen from One, Brinna, the sly red-head from Five, Clove, Cato's district partner who's deadly accurate with her knives, the two Careers from Four and Rue, the twelve year old from Eleven who stole Cato's knife in training. Nobody else really stands out in my mind, having mentally marked them as Bloodbath deaths. I keep scanning the tributes, until I find the tall lanky frame of someone that I think is my district partner. If it is, Linden is far away - right next to the trees, lucky bastard - but the only other person with a similar build to him is Marvel, the idiot from One. I'm entirely sure it's not Marvel. There is one person who I do not see, but I don't pause to dwell on it. _Twenty seconds, Rose, use them!  
_ I now scan the cornucopia, mentally marking the line I'm going to run and zoning in on the things I'll grab as I pass. My line takes me past a small metal drink bottle, a bright green box I assume is a first aid kit, a knife, a rather large backpack and a coil of rope. I immediately lock in on the knife and backpack. Even though I know it's stupid, I can't help but glance wistfully towards the axe I can see in the mouth of the cornucopia. That's where all the best things will be, but I'm not going to tempt fate. I might be a little reckless, but I'm not completely idiotic, or confident enough in my own abilities to be so brave. Besides, running for the cornucopia would be a direct violation of rule one and rule four. Rule four especially I am not keen to break. _Ten seconds._

 __I return my attention to the path I'm going to sprint and get into position. I'm a slightly faster than average runner, thanks to my long legs, but I'm too heavy to be really competitive. I'm better at endurance. This however, is quite literally the sprint of my life and with adrenaline pumping through my system and my eyes tunnelled on my prizes, I am confident in my abilities. _Five seconds_. I take a final deep breath and tense. Only half a second after the gong sounds, I'm leaping into action and sprinting for the backpack. I pass the drink bottle and first aid kit without slowing, though the latter is sorely tempting and pause only to snatch the knife from the ground, before diving for the backpack. A smaller body collides with me, but I spin away and manage to stay on my feet. All around me the screaming is starting and I'm not sticking around for it to get louder. My eyes land on Glimmer, the ditzy beauty queen is gone and she doesn't hesitate to viciously stab a small girl through the throat with a knife.  
Not in a hurry to attract her attention to me, I swing the bag over my shoulder and take off again, running for the tail of the cornucopia and the lake beyond it. I'm going to make it. It's all going so well.…until the boy from Four rounds the cornucopia and smashes right into me. He's got a spear in his hand and he jabs out wildly with it. I'm fast though and I roll away. He stabs again with a roar, more controlled this time as he recovers from the surprise and I only just manage to avoid it. Remembering rule number three, I bare my teeth and tighten my grip on my knife. This time when he tries to stab me, I knock it aside with my forearm and it flies from his grasp. With a shout he leaps on me, seeing only the girl from an outlying district and believing himself strong enough to beat me. I don't waste time trying to pin him, especially when he manages to wrap his fingers around the bruises at the top of my forearms, making me cry out in pain as he tries to wrench the knife from my hand. I roll and twist, delivering a sharp blow to the pressure point at his shoulder, that makes him grunt and release me. I take the chance and stab out half-blindly with the knife. I connect. I connect hard and hot liquid spills over my hand. The boy roars in pain and wrenches away. I lose my grip on the knife, but I don't care, I'm on my feet and desperately looking around to make sense of the chaos. My gaze has just locked on the spear I knocked from Four's hands when a yell makes me freeze: Cato.

I pause and turn just in time to see him stab the boy from Five through the heart with a long dagger. As the boy falls, Cato steps back, his hand going to his shoulder. He's hurt I realise. Suddenly his head turns and piercing blue eyes meet my light green ones. For a moment our gazes are locked then his eyes widen. I duck as he releases the knife, my heart shuddering as I realise that I've actually reached the point when Cato is going to make good on his promises and kill me. The knife doesn't hit me though. A cry from directly behind me makes me stumble backwards in shock as I see that the small girl from District Three has been trying to sneak up on me. Cato's knife has hit her right in the stomach, but that's not what my gaze focuses on. She's holding a knife in her hands and even as I watch she looks up and lunges forward with a frenzied cry. I react on instinct, dancing aside and disarming her in a quick movement. The knife falls to the ground and she accidentally kicks it away as she tries to break free of my grip. I hit her hard in the temple and then shove her backwards. She crumples to the ground silently and doesn't get back up.  
My breath is coming in short, shallow gasps as I look around for the knife she dropped. I see the spear instead and quickly dive for it. Adrenaline is telling me to get the hell out of the chaos and I'm happy for any weapon as I turn for the lake again. I chance looking back as I reach the grassy bank. My gaze is searching for a specific person and I find him quickly. He's fought his way much closer to where I had been standing and as I watch he drives his sword through the girl from Three's heart; finishing her off. Again he looks up and our gazes meet, his expression is twisted, but he doesn't move closer or lift his sword threateningly. He just stands and stares at me. I stare back, he just saved my life. Probably because of the weird possessive, 'I'm going to be the one to kill you. You are mine.' thing, but nevertheless, he saved my life. The stare he is giving me isn't the same as the other ones either. He almost looks the same way he did when I punched him in training. Sort of shocked and vulnerable. Abruptly I'm extremely annoyed and I feel my expression settle into a scowl. Once again he's screwing with my head and I hate that. I hold his gaze for a split second longer, before turning my back to him. I splash through the shallows, wading quickly. As I do so, I tighten the backpack's straps and buckle it around my waist. The spear is inconvenient, but I'm not about to abandon my only weapon. I wade through the water for as long as I can, heading up-river, then when the water has reached my chest, I push off and swim as best I can for the opposite bank. I go at a diagonal, aiming for the mouth of the river that feeds the lake, the current there is much stronger, but it's nothing compared the raging waters of the river at home, so even with my clothes, boots, bag and spear hindering me, I make good progress and am only breathing slightly heavily when I reach the shore and hurl myself up onto the stony bank. I don't pause there, hurrying quickly across the rock for the cover of the trees.

I relax almost immediately as my boots hit compact dirt and my body is hidden in the shade of the trees. I know that no tribute can possibly be anywhere near me. The only way for someone to reach where I'm standing, is for them to cross the lake or river. At this point they'd have to swim like I did and there was nobody else in the water. It's possible they can cross further up the river, but as far as I can see the river remains wide and strong. They'd have to run far into the forest and they haven't had the time. I stick close to the edge of the tree-line, flitting amongst the trunks with the silent practice of someone who has walked on the forest floor their whole life. I make my way back down towards the main lake, then look around for a suitable tree. There is much to be learnt from observing the bloodbath and I would like some sort of idea where in the arena everyone is running. I do find a tree and clamber up it easily, even with the spear still clutched in my hand. I don't have to go very high, but I climb until I reach a sturdy branch with a convenient fork that I can comfortable rest on. I'm surprised as I realise the bloodbath looks to be nearly over. I can see bodies littering the ground, but the fighting appears to have stopped. There's a girl with shiny blonde hair that can only be Glimmer standing right in the middle of the field with another girl that I think is from Four. Clove is striding towards the cornucopia, recognisable by her dark hair and slender stature. She's gripping a blonde boy that is much bigger than her tightly, dragging him along. No doubt she has at least two knives pressed against various parts of his body and a dark scowl or a mocking smirk on her face. Yet this is out of character and I'm intrigued. As far as I can remember there are only three blondes in the arena. Glimmer, Cato and… Peeta. I watch calculatingly as the tall, broad shouldered figure that can only be Cato appears from behind the cornucopia. I can't hear what he's saying, but from the way he's storming towards Clove and the boy, who must be Peeta, and waving his sword around, I'd say he's yelling. Marvel appears behind him and points his spear menacingly at Clove's prisoner, as the two tributes from Two move away from their allies. I imagine they're having a quiet, but fierce argument. Clove is not the type to take prisoners. She must have done it for a reason. But what is that reason? I ponder this as I watch the Careers. And suddenly it hits me.  
"They think he knows something about his district partner," I whisper, my eyes narrowing on the blonde boy. As this thought slowly sinks in, I allow a smirk to cross my face. Looks like I'm not the only person on Cato's kill list.

I turn my attention away from the Careers and unbuckle the backpack, scooting back along the branch to lean against the trunk of the tree. Damn I missed the smell of the forest. I carefully unzip the backpack, which, I note with satisfaction that it is a muddy green colour, perfectly camouflaged. I notice for the first time that a sleeping bag is secured firmly to the bottom of the backpack, and smile approvingly, before turning my attention to the contents of the main bag. It's quite large and I can tell that it's packed full, so I'm careful to not lose anything as I sort through the supplies inside. Everything is bone dry, meaning the backpack itself must be waterproof. Considering a wet sleeping bag probably wouldn't do much for keeping me warm, I'm very appreciative of this. There's a large drink bottle, which is empty, but which I can easily fill from the lake. A small bottle of iodine to purify the water and a medium sized cooking pot. A rather large first-aid kit, a long length of rope, a waterproof container of matches, a packet of dried beef, a bag filled with nuts, a packet of crackers and another sealed package filled with dried fruit. I also find a coil of wire, a couple of empty containers for storing food and a pair of sunglasses, which I gratefully slip on. The glare is terrible and all the squinting is already giving me a headache. I carefully pack everything back into the backpack and after giving the Careers - who are all gathered around Peeta - one last look I climb down the tree. Just as my feet hit the ground cannons start to fire, signalling the blood-bath is over. I'm struck with an idea and hurry for the lake, pulling the drink bottle from my bag and filling it quickly. By the time the final cannon has blown, I'm back under cover of the trees and am putting as much distance between myself and the Careers as I can. I'm hesitant to walk upriver, because I know that's where most of the other tributes have run, so instead I walk on a slight diagonal in the opposite direction. I'm roughly following the curve of the lake, keeping it between myself and the Careers, but heading in the general direction of the cliff instead of the deeper forest where those who survived the blood-bath will be running around in general anarchy and terror.

"Rule number four," I mutter to myself with a rueful smirk as I move away from the Careers, wondering if my mentor is watching, "Don't worry Johanna, I haven't forgotten."

 **LET THE GAMES BEGIN! What do you think? This was very difficult to write, so please let me know that all the action parts make sense! I think I'm better at character interaction than describing events, but unfortunately the Hunger Games has a lot of lonely wandering and fast-paced action, so let's hope I get better! I'll try and get the next update up a bit faster! Thank you all and DFTBA!**

 **\- xx**


	12. Chapter 12

*** Chapter Twelve ***

I wring the water out of my shirt and pause my quick strides to empty it from my boots as well. Even in the shelter of the forest it's quickly becoming stiflingly hot, so I take my jacket off and fix it to hang over my backpack, giving it a chance to dry. I'm tempted to take my hair out and let that dry too, because it's dripping water down my back, but the tight bun hasn't loosened and I figure I should make the most of it.

There's a slight spring in my step as I scurry along; even though I'm on my guard and constantly scanning the forest ahead of me, almost unthinkingly flitting from tree to tree and keeping my footsteps practically silent; I'm back in the forest. I could _almost_ pretend I was back home. More than that even, I have good supplies and - what do you know - I'm still alive! As far a first days in the Hunger Games arena goes, it's hasn't been bad and you could say I'm pleasantly surprised.

When I find a bush of blackberries, I can't help but smile. How knows how long my luck will last, but while it does, I'll make the most of it. I take a break to strip the bush of it's fruit and to add the required iodine drops to my water. I eat a few of the berries, but most I cram into one of the empty containers in my backpack. I'm sure there will come a time when I treasure every tiny morsel of food. When I'm finished I pack everything back into my bag and set off again.

I don't walk for very long. Judging by the position of the sun, I'd say for only a little over three hours. I had planned to walk further, but am forced to stop and consider my options as I reach a tall stony cliff. I've been vaguely aware that there's a sort of natural - if anything in this arena is natural - wall running along to my left. Though I haven't actually changed my course, it's been running distantly parallel to me for the last hour. Now however, as I had feared since I first became aware of it, I have run into the problem of it blocking my way. I pause to look up and see if I can somehow climb it, but the wall is almost completely flat and something tells me I wouldn't find much even if I did manage to reach the top. With a sigh I walk along the line of the wall, forced to curve back around until I'm fairly sure I'm walking back in the direction I've come. To stay under the cover of the trees, I walk about a hundred metres parallel from the wall, periodically veering closer to make sure I haven't lost it, before veering off again. I'm more on guard now, holding my spear tightly, my ears pricked.

It's another hour and a half before the trees begin to thin again. It's with a heavy heart that I confirm my suspicions. I'm back at the lake. This time however I'm at the end of it, closer to where I entered the arena, than where I swam across. _Looks like my luck didn't last long at all._ I wonder what Johanna's reaction is as I slowly make my way forward, staying in the trees for as long as possible, then grudgingly make my way to the edge of the meadow to peer towards the cornucopia. The golden horn gleams almost unnaturally bright in the sun and I have to squint to see any details past the glare. The first thing I notice is that the bodies are gone. They've likely already been picked up by the Capitol hovercraft to be placed in a tightly sealed, unmarked coffin and unceremoniously sent back to the districts. That's the only real perk about dying on the first day; you get home a lot sooner than the rest of us.

I chill goes down my spine and I grimly refocus on the meadow, there's a stack of bags and parcels near the mouth of the cornucopia, but there are still supplies scattered around it too; as if someone got bored halfway through collecting everything up. I see the girl from Four, and the two tributes from One: Marvel and Glimmer, setting up tents - one is fully erected, but they seem to be having trouble with the second - and from the tenor of their voices, I gather they're complaining, though I can't actually make out what they're saying. Next is Clove who is yelling at a small boy, who I'm very surprised to see amongst them. She's going off about finishing his job before trying to steal food, but I'm too shocked to do anything but stare. Why on earth would the Careers have left the scrawny boy from District Three alive?

I'm even more confused to spot Peeta and find he is digging a hole in the ground, and he doesn't look happy about it either. It must be hardworking in the blistering sun and it's not even the first hole, I can see three others. What the hell are they doing? I return my attention to Clove as she pulls out a knife and jabs it in Three's direction, snarling something I can't quite make out. He stumbles back nervously and scurries to help Peeta with his hole digging. I'm completely mystified as to what the point of the holes are, but alarm bells suddenly go off in my mind as I realise one very important person isn't accounted for.

 _Yeah, I most certainly ran out of that luck._

I sink into a crouch, adding the long grass to my camouflage and carefully scan the area. I don't see him at the shore of the lake, around the cornucopia, near any of the still scattered supplies or with any of the other Careers. Paranoia creeps up on me and I move to retreat further into the forest, when my instincts suddenly scream at me to freeze. I obey and am immediately glad that I do. A stick snaps loudly only ten metres or so to my left, but I don't turn to look, knowing any sort of movement will just draw attention to me. I wait, adrenaline and fear coursing through me, until finally the figure I least want to see crosses into my vision. I examine Cato as he storms through the outskirts of the forest in the direction of the cornucopia. He's taken his jacket off, and has two wicked looking knives strapped to his belt. He's carrying a large sword loosely in his hand and his expression is twisted into a dark glower. Inexplicably my eyes are drawn to the bandage tied tightly around his upper arm and an emotion that feels scarily like concern floats through me. I grimace and glance down at my own arms. I have purple and blue bruises in the exact same place on my skin; bruises that he gave me. A scowl crosses my face and I tighten my grip on my spear. His back is to me now, I could easily rise to my feet and throw the deadly weapon. It would impale him in the back; it would kill him; the cannon would sound and I would be gone before the Careers could even realise what happened.

I could take out my largest competition on day one. I could kill the monster that wants to kill me.

I silently rise to my feet and ready my spear. One throw. All I have to do is draw back my arm and release. It would be easy. Rule three: _Kill or be killed Thorns. Heroes don't win the Hunger Games_. I bare my teeth and draw back my arm, imagining a target on the back of the unsuspecting Career and visualising the path the spear will take. It's easy, his back is so broad and muscular, a much larger target than anyone else's in the arena. I focus and narrow my eyes, he's still striding away and I don't have much time before he's out of range. My arm muscles tense and my arm comes back and— nothing.

 _Come on Rose! Kill him!_

I pull my arm back again and try to throw, but I don't. I can't.

Slowly my arm lowers and I stand there like an idiot staring at the back of Cato's head. It's at this instance that Cato's own instincts kick in and he whirls around. I freeze. I'm in the shadows, pressed to the side of the tree, the only way he could see me is by looking directly at me. He doesn't, and with an annoyed sort of growl he stomps off. He's out of range now and I sink back against the trunk of the tree and close my eyes.

"You idiot," I hiss between clenched teeth, hitting the back of my head against the tree. Johanna is going to be having a fit. I had a perfect opportunity and I let it slip through my bleedin' fingers.

I couldn't throw a spear at _him_. Not when his back was turned. Not when it was him that sent hours teaching me how. I especially couldn't do it after he inexplicably saved me in the bloodbath and let me run without putting up any sort of fight. Clenching my jaw hard, I turn back to watch as Cato strides across the grass towards the cornucopia. Seized by sudden need to be able to hear what is going on, I bolt along the tree line, following Cato's path until I'm pressed against one of the trees closest to where Clove is standing guard over the two 'prisoners'. I clamber up into the tree and edge out along one of the branches to get even closer; trusting the leaves, my camouflaged clothing and the Career's arrogance to keep me safe. It's my experience that people fail to look up anyway.

By the time I have settled in the tree Cato has reached his district partner and the other three Careers have noticed his arrival, though they don't move to approach. Cato ignores them and scowls over at Peeta and the boy from Three who are both eyeing him warily.

"Did we tell you to stop?" he snarls, "What have you been doing? It doesn't look like you've made any progress!"

"That's because Three over here has spent more time skulking near the food than digging," Clove informs him, her lips pulling into a mocking sneer, "We had a little chat though, didn't we?" Three glances at her and noticeably gulps, before nodding silently, "And will it happen again?" she continues with false sweetness.

The boy firmly shakes his head, "No, Clove."

"It better not!" Cato interrupts with a glare that makes me swallow thickly, "Because until we see proof that your little experiment works, you're an annoying and useless drain on our resources. Wastes of space make me angry and when I'm angry, I tend to get twitchy," his hand meaningfully grips the hilt of his sword, "You wouldn't like that."

I suddenly become aware that my hand has leapt to my neck and that my fingers are nervously brushing along the line of bruises and the marks he has left on my skin. I feel like my blood has run ice cold. The way he glared at that boy… he has _never_ looked at me like that.

His voice has never been so tight with cool, uncaring, aggression and anger when he's spoken to me. There is no burn beneath his icy gaze, no smirk playing around his mouth and no growl in his clipped voice. The man in front of me is much different to any Cato I have seen before. And oddly enough… he scares me more than the other Cato.

With one last contemptuous sniff from Clove and a dark glare from Cato, the two Careers retreat a small distance away from the boys digging in the earth. I'm amused to note that as soon as they turn their backs Three pokes his tongue out and Peeta shoots them a disgusted sort of glance before moodily gazing into the trees. I freeze as he seems to look straight at me, but his eyes slide over the branch I'm perched on without pause, before he turns his attention back to his task.

Cato and Clove have actually moved closer to my hiding spot and so I can hear them clearly, despite the fact their voices are hushed. The glare vanishes from Clove's face and even Cato seems to relax slightly, the tension in his shoulders and the expression on his face loosening. I scowl as my body automatically relaxes in response and grip my spear tighter.

"Any sign of her?" Is Clove's first question.

"No," Cato growls, his tone conveying that he does not want to talk about it. Clove is either oblivious or chooses to ignore him, because she presses on.

"They're not happy with you, especially Marina. And I'm not especially pleased either Cato, you killed a member of our alliance!"

"I finished him off," Cato snorts, though his expression tightens again, "Saved him from a slow, painful death. His guts were falling out! It was _mercy_. I put an _ally_ out of his misery."

"Bullshit," Clove hisses, "We all heard you yell at him! You killed him because he nearly killed _her_!"

"He didn't fall on his own knife," Cato growls back, taking a menacing step forward, his expression black, "She stabbed him. He didn't nearly do anything!"

"Aw," Clove coos, her dark eyes flashing mockingly, "Now you're defending her abilities too? Aren't you just the sweetest!"

Cato's entire body tenses and for a moment I think he's going to throttle his own district partner, but instead he just snarls back, "Four was dead one way or the other, I just made it quicker. What matters is that Lover Boy has given us jack-shit about Bitch-on-Fire; the midget from Three is likely to blow us sky-high; One is pissing me off; and the only other tributes who got close to our training scores are still alive and got away with supplies—"

Clove lets out a dark laugh, "And who might these supposed rivals be?"

"Eleven and Seven," Cato growls back through clenched teeth.

"Please!" Clove snickers, her eyes shining with twisted mirth, "Eleven's pathetic and the boy from Seven is a total idiot, what threat could they possibly-"

"Clove!" Cato snarls threateningly.

"What?" she asks, painting an innocent expression on her face.

"You know I meant Thresh and the girl from Seven-"

"The girl from Seven?" Clove repeats with a fake gasp, "You mean the one that called you an 'arrogant, cowardly arse' in training? The one that practically told you to 'fuck off' on live television? The one who you haven't taken your eyes off all week? The one that had you almost permanently confined to a cold shower—"

I'm not at all surprised when Cato leaps at Clove with a roar, though I try to keep my expression completely blank. I am rather shocked that a lot of their conversation subtly hinted at me and even more shocked to learn that Cato killed the boy from Four. I didn't think the injury I gave him was too bad, but clearly it was worse than I thought. Instead of being disturbed by the fact that Cato killed the boy for nearly killing me (I'm not so delusional to believe that I won easily) I'm strangely numb. I'd seen him kill two others and I'd barely considered that either. I'm in shock I rationalise with growing discontentment, it just hasn't sunk in yet. Instead of being disturbed, my brain dazedly clings to Clove's words, registering that the latter parts might be considered a compliment… you know if we weren't in the middle of the fucking Hunger Games… I forcefully shake my head to try and clear those thoughts out of it and focus back on the wrestling Careers. Clove is laughing her head off and still throwing pointed remarks at him as she squirms, somehow managing to avoid being pinned to the ground.

"What are you going to do here? These pants are rather tight… I suppose the lake might be cold enough."

"Hope you're not turned on by sweat, tangled hair, dirty skin and trashed clothes!"

"Good thing there aren't any elevators around here!"

It's the last comment that finally breaks through my barrier and I squeeze my eyes shut and tuck my head in my hands, wishing with all my heart that I hadn't climbed the tree. It would be much easier to make a tactical and unnoticed retreat if I wasn't stuck in a tree while they fought on the ground only mere metres away. Why the fuck would he tell her what happened in the elevator? Lucky for me, Clove's comments inflame Cato too and he finally succeeds in pinning his district partner to the ground, lying practically on top of her to keep her still.

"You should be careful Cato," she says calming down and looking at him seriously for a moment, then the devilish smirk reappears, "She strikes me as the jealous type, I doubt lying on top of another woman is the way into her—"

Cato slaps a hand over her mouth, "Shut up Clove," he hisses, "You know it's not like that! We pegged her as a threat from the start and we all know you suck at making friends—" He lets out a little grunt and wrenches his hand away from Clove's mouth, scowling, "I can handle you licking my hand, but biting is where I draw the line," he mutters and I actually snort quietly, my hand flying to the marks on my neck again, despite the fact that I'm reeling from his words.

Clove ignores him, though all trace of laughter has vanished, "That bullshit might have worked on Enobaria and Titan, Cato, and you can even try and delude yourself if you want," she pauses, looking up at him calculatingly, "Probably better that way anyway, considering we could all be dead in days - but I know you far too well for you to use the same excuses on me."

"What? You think I actually care about her?" Cato hisses, making a sharp pain shoot through my chest that I studiously ignore, keeping my features an uncaring mask of indifference and boredom, despite the fact I hang onto every agonising word. It's like watching a tree fall the wrong way; you can't look away from the disaster, no matter how much you want to, "I was trying to get into her head," he continues in a dark growl, "Figure out what makes her so damn confident, convince her to join the pack, or at least find out what her weakness are—"

Clove scoffs in his face, but his words make me sad. _So damn confident_ … if only I actually felt as confident as I act. In a small way his words comfort me, my facade is obviously believable, but mostly they bring back the sting of old hurts, poking barely healed scars that I desperately hide beneath my bravado.

"If you ask me it's her that's got in your head! Who are you trying to convince?" Clove jeers, "Me? Our mentors? Everyone back home? Or yourself?" When he doesn't immediately answer - or move at all actually - Clove makes a noise of disgust, "Get the hell off me you prick, someone needs to go and tell the idiots you insisted we ally with that they need to peg the tent to the ground before they stick the poles in! They've been at it for an hour and all they've done is moan and cover it in dirt! We need to finish building the supplies into a pyramid, in case Three's mental idea actually works!" She succeeds in shoving him off her and gets quickly to her feet, but hesitates before actually walking away, "Just remember Cato… only one person can win the Hunger Games. And even then…"

A scowl crosses her face and she turns on her heel, leaving Cato frozen in the position she left him. I can't explain the overwhelming sadness that is coursing through my body, it's too strong for me to ignore and I don't try very hard to repress it. You can't stop a tree from falling the wrong way once it starts, you can only accept and try to minimise the damage. I stare down at Cato for the minute or two it takes him to move again. I can't see his face, but the set of his shoulders makes me think that he's trying to repress the wave of emotions I've chosen to ride out. When he finally stands up and strides purposefully over to the other Careers with a one part scathing and two parts threatening look at the two non-Careers - who are still inexplicably digging in the dirt - I'm slightly surprised by how composed he looks. He still looks as though he could lose it at any moment of course… but that's just who Cato is. I tense so violently that I almost drop my spear out of the tree, very disturbed by the tone of my thoughts. If I had spoken them aloud, they would have sounded… accepting, with even a touch of something that was scarily close to loving. As if his unpredictable anger is an endearing flaw in a friend that is more amusing than anything else.

I climb down from the tree quickly and silently, before randomly setting off in a direction. I'm passed caring at this point, I don't care where I go, so long as it's far, far away from him. _Trying to get in my head, huh? Well you damn well succeeded!_ I know I should be angry, furious even, but all I can feel at the moment is a strange sort of numbing sadness. Damn him.

"Remember the rules Rose," I mutter to myself harshly, "You've not been in here a day and you've already broken more than one," I scowl at the thought and walk faster, "Heroes don't win the Hunger Games," I remind myself, and with a deepening scowl I add, "He's just like Wren… he deserves to die."

I halt and with an angry grunt stab the spear viciously into the ground. If only it was Wren in this arena with me. Killing him would be easy. I might even enjoy it. My hand goes to my neck again and I wish that I'd gotten the chance to look in a mirror at some point this morning. It annoys me that I can't see the marks, while they're no doubt blatantly obvious to every single person that looks at me. With a snort, I lift my left wrist and examine the scar that is only centimetres away from the artery. I can see this one and for some reason it makes me feel smug. He missed. Still… the fact that I bear the mark of another boy who wanted me to lie on my back and spread my legs irritates me. Another tramp stamp.

"Too bad Wren," I find myself saying darkly, staring up at where I imagine a camera would be, "I'd have loved the opportunity to kill you. Your daddy wouldn't be able to protect you in here."

I seize the spear up and stride on. This time however I pay more attention to my surroundings. It wouldn't do for someone to sneak up on me and slit my throat while I wander around in a huff. When I find a suitable tree I climb it swiftly, until the branches I'm balanced on start to tremble under my weight. I cling to the trunk with expertise only born from years of experience and carefully examine the arena again. I've walked off at a diagonal from the cornucopia, putting the lake to my back and going in almost the complete opposite direction to the patch of forest I had walked in for most of the early afternoon. I'm high enough that I can see the shape of the lake clearly, as well as the fact that the rocky wall curves in a way that was probably designed to do exactly what it did to me. Force tributes back towards the cornucopia. With an annoyed huff I carefully turn to examine the rest of the forest. It stretches for as far as I can see. With another turn I examine the cliff. It's more of a rocky and slightly perilous looking incline, perhaps possible to climb down, but probably risky due to the loose rock. The lake spills over the side of it at one point and I can see that there's a sort of marshy swamp down there, along with a huge field of some sort of crop. I deduce that it is probably a type of grain and wonder if that's where Thresh ran to. I'm rather conflicted as I stare around the arena. The forest is mine; I was born surrounded by trees; I know trees, but that's where I saw every single other tribute run. I didn't see anybody head for the cliff and I know I was the only person to cross the lake to the much smaller section of trees. Ideally, I would find somewhere to hole up for a few days. Wait for the competition to thin out, try and acquire a weapon more suited to my talents. I scowl at the spear, wishing I'd been able to hold onto the knife I'd had. Hand to hand combat and spears don't really mix. A knife or some sort or an axe, that's what I wanted. I got a stupid spear. A bloody stupid spear, that reminds me of bloody stupid Cato every time I look at it.

Still, I suppose it's better than nothing.

I climb back down the tree, and take my sunglasses off. I'm very aware that the sun is sinking low in the sky, I have no need of them now, what I do need is a place to sleep. I sigh slightly and begin walking again, looking for a suitable tree. After twenty minutes I find one that I'm very happy with. It's going to be a little tricky to climb - even for me - which tells me that most tributes won't have a chance in hell of reaching me up there and there's a wide, rather flat branch about thirty feet up that looks perfect for sleeping on. First of all however, I want to ensure that no other tributes are nearby and maybe catch myself some food.

I slip soundlessly around the tree then melt silently into the shadows of one a few metres away, sinking gracefully to a crouch. I've always been gifted with soundless movement, especially in the forest. If I didn't want to be found, it was very hard for anyone back home to find me. Much of my childhood was spent practicing sneaking up on people, constantly giving my elder siblings and parents the slip, stealing the odd piece of fruit or other item from stalls on market day, and more-so noticing the way most people walked in the middle of the path. When they were going about their daily lives, not thinking about their movements, human's walked in the light, avoiding the shadows. I discovered it was amazing how few people even noticed me when I was standing, completely still in the shade of a building, was pressed to the side of a tree or sitting in a dim corner. My skill was one that was self-taught for the most part. I've never liked being the centre of attention. I've always preferred to look and listen, it's amazing the things you learn when people don't know or don't expect you to be there. Fletcher, my second eldest brother, had always been rather good at sneaking around when he wanted to as well, using his skill to slip out at night and meet up with friends or girls and to pull practical jokes. He was also the only person who'd ever caught me watching when I didn't want to be seen. After the first time, and the following discussion, he'd sometimes actively look for me. On occasion he'd spot me and wink, on others he'd give up. The funniest times would be when I'd catch him calculatingly peering up into the trees, staring particularly hard at a bush or suspiciously eyeing a shady corner, only to sneak up behind him and tap him on the shoulder or whisper something in his ear. His reactions were always priceless.

I stayed absolutely still for a solid ten minutes, my ears pricked for any sound and my eyes the only thing that moved as I scanned the forest for any unnatural movement. The wildlife that I'd been aware of all day, having clearly seen squirrels, rabbits, birds and even the occasional glimpse of a deer before the animals bolted, appeared to be the only life around. So after ten minutes of resilience, ignoring the tree root jabbing into my thigh, the cramp in my left leg and the itch on the tip of my nose, I smoothly brought up my arm and hurled my spear at a rather large and fat rabbit that had dawdled near my hiding spot for much too long. The spear caught the creature right in the head, just as I'd intended and I silently stand and go to collect it.

I'd like to think that I prove Marcella dressed me fittingly and that I melt from the shadows like a dryad , but I've never seen myself so I don't know and I doubt I'm graceful enough anyway. It's too late to set up a fire to cook the rabbit today, but by the fading light, I determinedly have a go at skinning the animal with my spear. I've had little practice and never been the best at it even with a knife, so it's not a very good job, but it'll do. I retreat a few minutes away from where I plan to sleep to bury the parts I won't eat and to wipe my spear on some moss that I find. By the time I have stowed the uncooked meat in my larger container, climbed the tree and sorted out my sleeping bag, the sun is beginning to set and the temperature starts to noticeably drop. I put on my jacket again, grateful that it has dried completely in the heat of the day and rummage in my bag to bring out my water bottle and some food. I decide to allow myself four crackers, a strip of dried meat and a small handful of blackberries. From what I have seen of the forest, I should be able to find food. Sure there is a disappointing lack of pine trees, but I still recognise most of the smaller plants along the floor of the forest. I'll be able to find edible roots, fruit and maybe even nuts without too much difficulty and I've proven that even with only a spear I can catch rabbits at least.

I am just washing down my dinner with a few controlled sips of water when the sky lights up when the first notes of the anthem boom through the arena. I tense immediately. I've been avoiding thinking about this moment all day. Especially since I learnt that the boy from Four is dead and that I as good as killed him. The girl from Three is the first to appear - not at all surprising as I've seen both from One and Two and the boy from Three since the cannons fired - and guilt begins to gnaw at me as I realise I'm to blame for her death too. The nausea builds as her face transitions to the boy from Four. I stare mutely up at his face and wonder if the replay of his death shows me wrestling with him, or just Cato finishing him off. I suppose it doesn't matter. The boy's green eyes seem to bore into me and unbidden my mouth opens, and two words fall out.

"I'm sorry."

The words are a whisper. They don't hold any grief or guilt, or much emotion at all really. The numbness has returned and I watch with detached interest as the faces continue to appear. It's with relief that the girl from Six melts straight into the boy from Eight. I'm not surprised though. Linden was right next to the forest and with that sort of advantage, he wouldn't risk entering the bloodbath.

It's with genuine sadness that I see the tiny girl from Eleven didn't make it.

Rue, the girl who took Cato's knife, the one I took the fall for. With the seven she got in training, I'd hoped she would last longer than she did. Her face is the last one that appears in the sky, but I keep looking up even as night falls. Darkness closes in with unnatural speed and within minutes it could be the middle of the night. Rue's death has caused a weariness to seep into my bones, it's the same weariness that I saw in Hillier's eyes. She was twelve years old. A child with a bright future ahead of her. Someone much too innocent, much too sweet and much too good to be caught up in these games. I remember the smile on her face as she balanced above everyone's heads and the quick intelligence in her eyes as she realised what I wanted. I remember how the conversation we had buoyed me with hope that not everything in the world was contaminated and corrupt. The genuine awe she had for my interview dress and the way her face lit up when I told her she looked beautiful too. I shake my head slowly and find that a few tears are dripping down my cheeks,

"No," I whisper up at the sky, "No… I'm so sorry Rue."

It takes me a long moment to control my voice and I angrily swipe the tears off my cheeks. I want to say a proper goodbye to the little girl who flew through the rope's course, loved her younger brothers and sisters, wanted a beautiful dress for her interview and loved any sort of music.

"I hope there's lots of music… and trees to climb… and pretty dresses… and …knives to steal…" I murmur eventually, swallowing a lump in my throat, "wherever you are Rue, I hope you're happy and safe and that-" my voice cracks and I lift a shaking hand to my mouth to try and hold back my sob, "and that you know how much your family, and your district, and anyone who knew you, is going to miss you."

I kiss my hand and blow it up to the sky, miserably watching as it darkens with unnatural quickness. It's at least ten minutes before I finally tear my gaze away from the sky and shove the water bottle back into my backpack. I zip it closed and shove it into the bottom of my sleeping bag, before getting in myself.

I'm just carefully positioning my spear against the trunk of the tree, so it won't fall during the night, when I hear them. Voices. I shift quickly so I'm flat against the branch of the tree, my spear held tightly as I curse the orange strips on my sleeping bag. I position myself so that my body covers as much of the bright colour as possible, then freeze. The Careers are actually further off than I thought, they are hooting with laugher and jeering loudly, which is the reason I heard them so easily. It takes at least a full five minutes before I actually see them. Cato is unmistakably in the lead with the slim figure of Clove being only half a pace behind him. It's not them making the noise, it's the girl from Four - Marina as I learnt her name was - and Marvel, who I've always had pegged for an egotistical idiot. Cato might be arrogant, but he actually has got reason to be, and he's far from being stupid. Peeta walks behind the two loud ones, with Glimmer bringing up the rear a long knife held openly in her hand and her eyes fixed on Peeta's back. The boy from Three is nowhere to be seen so I assume they've left him behind. Marvel, Marina and Glimmer all carry torches, which strikes me as rather unusual until I catch sight of Clove's face in Marina's light. She's wearing some sort of black glasses that I assume allow her to see in the dark and I'd put money on Cato wearing a pair too.

"If you don't shut your mouth right now District One," Clove snarls, spinning around, a throwing dagger clasped in her hand, effectively bringing the pack to a stop directly under my tree, "This is going through your throat. Get that light out of my face Four!" she adds, taking a menacing step towards the girl, who hurriedly averts her flashlight.

"How do you expect to find anyone with all the noise you're making?" Glimmer speaks up over the top of Marvel's protests, shooting an irritated glance at her district partner, "If you've got so much energy come guard Twelve." She pushes passed Peeta and shoves the knife into Marvel's hand, "Try not to trip," she says sweetly.

"Why?" Marvel asks with a cocky smirk, "Would you miss me Glimmer?"

She shoots him a disgusted look, but it's Cato who speaks, his voice icy cold, "How many times does she have to tell you she's not interested before it gets through your thick skull One? Shut your mouth and get to the back or I'll let Clove shoot."

His district partner shoots him a filthy look, as do I. The hypocrisy in his statement is blatantly obvious to me, though I wonder if I managed to look quite so intimidating and disgusted as Glimmer did. "Let me shoot?" Clove spits at him, "Do I have to remind you again that I'm not a dog, nor am I one of the spineless sluts that you order round. I'd like to see you try and stop me!"

Cato looks mildly irritated, but doesn't fly into a rage like I expected. I wonder how long he and Clove have known each other, because I'm fairly sure if anyone else said half the things I've overheard her say to him, they'd be dead, "All of you, keep your mouths shut and point your torches at the ground. Lover Boy said Girl-on-Fire went this way."

"I still say we should be looking for Eleven or Seven," Glimmer speaks, rather bravely in my opinion, until I realise she's talking about me, "They're bigger threats."

"Twelve got the highest training score," Marina pipes up, sounding annoyed, "That makes her the biggest threat!"

"She barely left edible plants, snares and rope tying," Glimmer snorts, "What's she going to do? Lasso us? Tree-Girl looked much more dangerous in training, she got a ten and she killed Bien!"

"Two killed Bien," Marina snarls, all traces of the overly-bubbly girl from training vanishing beneath a murderous glare she directs at Cato, "The only reason _Tree-Rat_ got a ten is because they wanted her and Cato to have the same scores to amp up the sexual tension. This is a television show, remember?"

The condescending tone in Four's voice makes me annoyed, despite the fact her underestimating me can only be a good thing, so I'm not surprised when Glimmer's face flushes with fury and her hand twitches for the sword at her hip. It's at this point that Clove speaks up however, and I'm mildly shocked by the cold logic she uses, "We have no idea where Tree-Girl went, nobody saw her, the only reason we know it was her that got Bien is because he told us. Same with Eleven, he could be anywhere! We know Bitch-on-Fire went this way and she's a threat, same as them, that's why we're walking in this bloody direction! Now shut up and move!"

It's Marina that she snarls the last part at, despite it being Glimmer who wanted to hunt me down instead of the girl from Twelve. My eyes are on Cato though, so I miss their reactions and expressions. He saw me leave the cornucopia… why wouldn't he tell anyone where I went? Not that it would matter, seeing as I'm nowhere near where I was, but still…

"We're wasting time," he growls.

Clove nods her agreement, "Let's go. The next person that speaks gets a knife in their foot."

I stay motionless as they move away. Despite the fact they're much quieter than before, all of them are clearly not used to walking through the forest and their footsteps alone would be loud enough to warn me, Linden and anyone else familiar with the environment of their approach. I'm glad of this, because despite my best efforts, my district partner has grown on me. I smirk slightly as I realise he's probably sleeping up a tree the same as I am. When I can no longer see the Career's flashlights between the trees or hear their movements, I relax and go back to organising my things so I can try and get some sleep. I doubt the Careers will be back any time soon.

It's definitely not the first time I've slept in a tree and the woody smell is extremely comforting as I settle down for the night. Anything familiar is welcome at this point. I turn my face into my shoulder and rest my head on the trunk of the tree, curling my feet up beneath me. One hand clutches the sleeping bag up to my chin as I d my best to huddle my shoulders into it. The other hand grips my spear. I might be prepared to sleep, high off the ground in the familiar safety of a tree, but I sure as hell am not letting my guard down. The Gamemakers clearly aren't going to make anything easy for us either if the trend continues: sweltering hot days and near freezing nights will be the end of some tributes, I'm sure of it. I'm also determined not to be one of them and my grip tightens around my spear.

Arrogance is the quickest way to die in the Hunger Games. I remind myself as I let my eyes close and my body relax, surrendering to the exhaustion of fear.

 **Wow it's been a long time since I updated... sorry about that!**

 **This chapter was really hard to write and I'm still not entirely happy with it. I think it's definitely the first major deviation from the original storyline that I've taken and I promise that I really didn't want to kill Rue, it just became inevitable! :'(**

 **Please let me know what you think and I'll try and get the next chapter out soon! Reviews are great motivation! ;)**

 **-xx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Trigger warnings: this chapter contains sensitive content for rape and sexual abuse that may be disturbing for some readers and I advise you to proceed at your own discretion particularly when you reach the** _ **italics**_ **text at the end of the chapter. I would also like to emphasise that I in no way mean to cause any offence or make light of any type of abuse, especially something as abhorrent as non-consensual sex. I apologise if I do and would greatly appreciate this being pointed out to me.**

 **...**

 *** Chapter Thirteen ***

A cannon sounds jerks me awake several hours into the night. I sit motionless and tense, gripped by terror, for several long minutes until the hovercraft appears. It's far enough away from me that I manage to eventually fall back into an uneasy sleep. This time I dream.

The boy from Four haunts me. He stands a distance away, the only thing visible in swirling mist. All he does it stare, his gaze accusing. Then Rue appears beside him; her features are cold and harsher than they were in reality and it makes her look like a vengeful angel. She too stands silent, her stare piercing and blaming. Then another person steps out of the mist and my blood runs cold. I've only ever seen one photo of my mother's twin sister. My aunt who died in the forty-second Hunger Games. I've been told many times that I look like her and one day I asked my father if he thought that was true. He'd disappeared into his and mother's bedroom and returned moments later with a single photograph. I'd been old enough to know that the very mention of my aunt could reduce my mother to tears, which was the reason there were no photos in our house of her - or so I'd thought.

Alaina Lancewood looked nothing like her twin sister.

My mother has light brown hair and hazel eyes, customary to district Seven. She's slight and bird-like in build. All my sisters take after her in hair colour and build. Alaina on the other hand, had dark hair like I do. While the photo wasn't the best, it was dark enough to be mistaken for black, but I assumed that like me it was in actuality just very dark brown. Her build was more similar to mine too. Taller and curvier than my mother and her sister. It was impossible to tell what colour her eyes were and I didn't ask, but as far as I was concerned the face shape was all wrong. Hers was soft, dark eyebrows combatted by full cheeks and lips and a gently rounded chin. My features were harsher and more angular. I'd consider her to be gorgeously beautiful, while I just stuck out like a sore thumb in Seven with my pale skin and dark hair. I'm different, curvy and tend to draw unwanted attention to myself when I open my mouth, that's what I've always chalked up boys' interest in me to. Yet, in my dream, Alaina could be me. With her features made harsh, her mouth pressed in a grim line and her chin set in accusation, I could be looking in a mirror. It's the fact she's in black and white and wearing a slightly old-fashioned dress that characterises her as my long deceased aunt, who was killed at the age of seventeen as a tribute in the forty-second Hunger Games.

Aunt Alaina stands on the other side of the boy from Four, Bien. The three of them stare at me for a moment, then in ominous synchronisation, slowly and with unnatural smoothness, lift their left hands to point accusingly at me. As one they tilt their heads to the side and their eyes harden.

I jerk awake with the unspoken _you're next_ the only thought in my frantic, sleep befuddled mind. It's only when my hand tightens around my spear that I remember where I am and hurriedly look around. It's morning. In fact it could be midday with how hot it is. I'm sweating in my jacket and sleeping bag and unzip the first as I clamber out of the latter. I focus on rolling up the sleeping bag and attaching it to my backpack, trying to ignore the fact that my hands are shaking and my heart is pounding alarmingly. I take a few mouthfuls of water to settle myself and stuff my jacket inside my bag, before zipping it shut. I leave it propped up against the trunk of the tree and climb higher until I can see the cornucopia through the surrounding woods. I don't see any movement, but there are three tents set up as well as a large tarpaulin. The Careers could still be asleep, though I can't see anyone keeping watch either. What catches my attention the most is that the supplies have all been piled up in a big pyramid some distance from the camp. I frown as I notice something else, of the holes Peeta and Three had been digging, there is nothing but turned soil. They've been covered up again… What were they digging for? The only thing I can think they would find is maybe water, but the lake's right there, why would they need it? With a huff of annoyance that I can't make head or tail of this development, I climb back down to the branch I slept on.

While I would love to linger, I know I can't and begin to make preparations to leave. I'm not really hungry and I'm too close to the cornucopia to risk a fire, so I decide to leave cooking the rabbit I caught the night before for later. I know that I should eat something, especially since my appetite is the first thing to go when I'm stressed, but I reason that I should ration the food anyway. I'm no stranger to an empty belly, though it has become rarer since my older siblings began working full time. Laina and Glen are of course not living at home anymore, both having married and moved into their own houses quite a few years ago now. Tilia will be going the same way within a few months when she had her own wedding. Fletcher, I reason, will probably be at home for a few more years because I can't see him getting married anytime soon. And the twins…

I stop thinking about my family, because it's making it very hard to keep the calm, confident mask in place. Especially when the thoughts pop in that I'll never get to see Tilia marry the man she loves; see my little Willow's first day at school; hold my newest niece or nephew when Glen's pregnant wife gives birth to their first child; meet the girl that manages to capture Fletcher's heart; or see the twins grow into adults. To stop the unwanted thoughts I fish out my sun-glasses, buckle my backpack on and climb down the tree to set off in the direction of where the lake enters the forest. I want to find a water source and stay close to it, especially if the Gamemakers keep the days as hot as they are. Without water I'll be dead from dehydration within a few days.

I stay on my guard as I walk, well aware that there's a high chance of me running into another tribute at some point as I'm crossing the area most of them ran into. I keep my footsteps silent and focus on making my movements unseen, even if I walk quickly. I have a fair distance to cover, but melting into the shadows has become second nature after so many years of doing it. I find another bush of berries - gooseberry this time - and strip off as many as I can fit into my pockets, eating them as I walk. They're a good snack because the juice helps to slacken my thirst. When I notice them, I also pick a few herbs and medicinal plants that might come in useful. The thought of eating the tough and gamey rabbit meat by itself doesn't exactly thrill me, so I make a point of picking strong flavoured herbs I can disguise the flavour with.

After nearly five hours of walking, I stop and allow myself a few more mouthfuls of water, because a pounding headache is starting to creep up on me. To give myself - especially my weary feet and aching back - a break, and to do something productive I also decide to cook the rabbit. I build a small fire with the driest wood I can find in a particularly dense part of the forest and stick the rabbit meat, a small amount of my precious water and a bunch of herbs I've collected into my pot. I frown as I realise I can't just stick the thin saucepan on top of the burning logs and waste time rigging up a stand for it. I wait anxiously for the meat to cook, standing motionless in the shadow of a beech tree a few metres from my fire, the spear clutched tightly in my hands. After nearly twenty minutes of tense anxiety, I deem the meat cooked enough to eat and lift the pot carefully off the fire with a stick. After stamping out the flames, I carefully carry the hot saucepan twenty minutes away, then sit down behind a fallen tree. I vaguely recall hearing some sort of saying about not eating where you cook and not sleeping where you eat and I figure it's good advice given the situation. Given the hassle of transporting the burning hot cooking pot however, I decide it might be best to skewer meat next time. I'm surprisingly rather pleased with my stew. However, seeing as my expectations were rather low and I haven't eaten all that much in the last twenty-four hours, the stew tastes a lot better than I'm sure it actually is. Still I file away the herbs I used in my memory. Anything that makes rabbit of all things taste good is worth remembering. I finish the entire pot, mainly because I know from experience that rabbit is even worse cold, but also because I'm not all that keen on transporting it around with me.

I start walking again after another mouthful of water, trying to stay vigilant in my quiet, hidden movements and to be on guard for people trying to kill me. By the time sunset rolls around, I've scaled another tree and discovered I'm not far from my destination, which is characterised by a long break in the trees. I've also tried my hand at one of the snares I learnt in the training centre. I have no idea if it'll catch anything, but I arrange a few tasty looking leafy shrubs over it and hope it does lure something. Preferably not a rabbit.

I nibble on a single cracker, finish the remaining gooseberries and chew on a piece of dried beef for dinner. As I had a large lunch, I reason that is more than enough. I'm stricter on my water rations, allowing myself two mouthfuls, before carefully putting my water bottle away and looking expectantly up at the sky. The cannon that fired in the early hours of the morning has been at the forefront of my mind for most of the day. I hoped it wasn't Linden often and catch myself worrying about Cato at moments of weakness. This troubles me more than I'd like to admit, so whenever I catch myself doing it, I try to transfer my hope to the girl from Twelve. If she's what's keeping the Careers from actively hunting for me, I'm all for her staying alive as long as possible. Plus her continued existence is bound to be pissing more than one of them off and my vindictive streak means that this makes me smirk. When the anthem starts I discover that it was the girl from Eight. I don't think about it too much, I didn't know her, barely remember her, didn't kill her, therefore it shouldn't affect me. Unfortunately this flawed logic doesn't really work and I find myself moodily scowling out across the darkening forest as I settle down to sleep.

 _Damn Capitol. Making children fight to the death is not a humane form of entertainment, you bastards!_

I don't dream that night, for which I'm grateful, and wake up just as the sky begins to lighten. I'm disappointed to discover I didn't catch anything in the night, but shake it off and place the disengaged snare in my bag. After replacing my jacket with sunglasses and allowing myself a few more sips from my dangerously light water bottle I set off again, chewing on a mint leaf to distract myself from the fact that I'm really thirsty and want to empty my bottle desperately. It takes another two hours of walking before I find myself on the banks of the river. I'm far from the cornucopia and the lake now - over a day's walk as I can say knowledgeably - and the broad river has shrunk to one that is perhaps five metres wide. The first thing I do is drain my bottle of water, the second is fill it back up and use the iodine to purify it, the third wash my face, hands and neck. The grease on my hands from eating the rabbit has been driving me insane and it's a relief to be able to rid my skin of some of the sweat and dirt. While the river here is deep and rocky, I do spend a little bit of time searching for some of the water plants I'm more familiar with. There's nothing apart from algae and weed in this part of the river, but I plan on sticking very close to it for the rest of my time in the arena, so I figure I'll find a more leafy part at some point. After a little bit of deliberation, I decide to cross the river, reasoning that most tributes are probably still on the side I am now. I strip my boots and socks off and use the laces to tie them to my backpack. I manage to slide my spear securely into the tie keeping the sleeping bag attached too, then hold it above my head as I cross the river. The water is deep and quite fast moving, but the river isn't very wide at this point, so I manage to cross using only my feet to propel myself and keep everything but the toe of one of my boots and my hair dry. I made the mistake of walking along the slimy ground, which suddenly dropped off, making my entire body, head and most of my arms included get wet, though I recovered fast enough to stop all my supplies from being soaked a second time. It's a miracle I manage to clamber up the rocky bank without cutting my feet, and the first thing I do is put my socks and boots back on, in case I have to run.

I'm feeling rather refreshed after my swim and I probably smell better too, so I also untie my wet hair from it's bun and run my hands through it. With the water loosening my curls to soft waves, my hair is very close to reaching my waist and I gaze longingly at my spear, thinking how easy it would be to just hack it all off. It's not like Marcella could actually yell at me from outside the arena, but my targeted sponsors are still probably perverted men and I wouldn't bet on me giving myself an attractive hair cut.I gather it all up to tie back in a ponytail and grimace, not only is it long, but it's also thick and with the water in it, the weight is more noticeable than normal. With a grumble I gather my backpack and spear and set off, sipping into the shade of the trees, both for protection from the sun and from wandering eyes, and set off. I follow the river up-stream, because I have no desire to see Cato or the other Careers, keeping a sharp eye out for other tributes with similar ideas, while I don't see any people, I do find faecal evidence of animals larger than rabbits and squirrels. There are deer on this side of the river too.

As I walk on I find it more and more surprising I haven't seen anyone besides the great pack of Careers and take the chance to run through the people who are left. Glimmer and Marvel from One, Cato and Clove from Two, the boy from Three, Marina from Four, and Peeta from Twelve - the Career Pack. Besides them, there's Brinna, from Five, who I spare a curious thought about. If anyone, I half expected to see her. For someone who grew up in Five she's very good at sneaking up on people, although I haven't heard her in a forest, maybe she's like the Careers and finds every single leaf and twig she can to step on. I shake my head, she's probably sticking near the cornucopia like she told me she would, if anyone in the arena knows what the random hole digging and supply pyramid is all about, it'll be her. I actually stop walking as I consider this. She asked for an alliance and it annoys me a lot that I haven't managed to figure out what Three's idea is, maybe I should seek her out?

She'll be near the cornucopia. _That's a breach of rule four Rose._

I nod to myself and start walking again. I've been doing a great job at stopping and accessing and keeping my supplies close. It's the killing and keeping away from Cato that I've had trouble with. If I stay away from the cornucopia however, which is where the majority of the tributes are, I probably won't be put in a situation where those rules come into play.

The Careers minus the boy from Four, plus Peeta and the boy from Three and Brinna. _Who else?_

Me and Linden from Seven… Thresh from Eleven… the girl from Twelve. That's twelve, but I know that there's thirteen people left. _Who's the thirteenth?_ I have to run through each district again, try and recall all the people who are dead and then mentally visualise the interviews, tribute parade and finally the reapings before I get my answer.

"The crippled boy from Ten," I say aloud.

That means that besides the Career pack and Brinna, who I've already decided will be closer to the cornucopia, there's really only the girl from Twelve, Linden and Thresh who could be out this far. The boy from Ten wouldn't have been able to travel so far so quickly and I wouldn't be surprised if he was sticking by the cornucopia also due to his bung leg. I pause again as I consider this. I'm fairly sure that Thresh was planning on running for the grain field over the cliff. If he did that would mean the only people who would logically be anywhere near me would be the girl from Twelve… and my district partner.

"Well Linden's not likely to kill me," I mutter to myself, "Twelve on the other hand…"

I frown to myself, I could be wrong after all. The Careers could all be hunting far away from the cornucopia, or they could have split off into smaller groups, or one of them could have gone off on their own. From what I saw last night they don't exactly have a strong alliance. Brinna could have left the cornucopia area too, though I'm not sure she'd kill me all that easily either. Thresh could be in the forest, not over the cliff and he would kill me I think, though I'm pretty sure I'd hear him coming. Still I feel considerably better knowing there's not a large number of faceless tributes running about the woods. It's this more than anything that compels me to set up three snares along the shore of the river, which is starting to flatten out again. Wider and not as deep as before, I hope I'll catch an unsuspecting animal looking for a drink.

While I need to hang around for a few hours to hopefully catch something, I need to be far enough away to allow the animals to come and I don't fancy spending too long sitting on the exposed bank.I slip silently back into the trees and walk for only a few minutes before I find a clearing created by one of the big elm trees falling. It's trunk is only in the first stage of rot, but it has taken out a few of it's smaller neighbours hopefully creating a commonly visited spot for wildlife. As I expect, I find a few edible herbs and plants to supplement any meat I might catch. The edible plants are hidden amongst the scraggly grass and fungus that is trying to claim the trees into the forest floor and the familiarity of my find makes me tuck them away with a smile. Tilia was always roping me and the twins into helping her look for medicinal plants for her apprenticeship and once finds like wild garlic were the deciding factor in whether we got dinner. I settle in to the shadows and scan the clearing carefully, listening intensely for signs of life before I freeze; my spear at the ready. Within five minutes squirrels are darting across in front of my eyes and I spot a rabbit a fair distance away, but I wait patiently. Almost half an hour after I sat down, having endured twenty minutes of pins and needles in my legs and fifteen of a strand of hair stuck to my lips, I am rewarded. I don't actually know what the thing I throw my spear at is… it's some sort of bird, an ugly one at that, which I think might be a turkey. Whatever it is, I think it will make more fine eating if I can figure out what to do with it. I take a moment to let the blood flow back to my legs, then stand up and move towards the dead bird.

"Holy mother of elm!"

I have dived behind a fallen tree and dropped into a fighting stance before the voice registers and I straighten up, peering cautiously over my natural barricade, "Linden?"

My district partner steps into clearing his face pale, "Don't do that Rosilda! Far out, first the spear comes from nowhere and kills _my_ groosling, then you melt out of the tree like a freaking dryad! Is that why I was forced to wear those itchy leaves? Are you actually part tree? Because if you are, it so explains all the weird things that you-"

I cut him off by pulling him into a tight hug, feeling rather choked up at finding something familiar and a little comforting in the arena, "Hi."

"Hi Rose," he replies sheepishly, patting my back in a surprised, awkward sort of way, "Good to see you."

I frown into his shoulder, "I got 'you're a sight for sore eyes' when my dress was ripped, make-up smudged and eyes all puffy and that's all you've got for when we're in the middle of the Hunger Games?"

He chuckled slightly, "You smell a lot better than I do and are the most beautiful thing I've laid eyes on since seeing I was right next to the forest when I appeared in this bloody arena. Better?"

"No," I respond, pulling back and scowling at him, "How come you got such a good pedestal? I was trapped between the lake and the cliff!"

"Well I had Clove next to me and Cato only one tribute over!"

"Thresh was right next to me and the boy from Four tried to spear me like I was a fish!"

"You got supplies and a weapon! All I got was a net, some rope and a loaf of bread!"

My scowl deepens, "At least nobody actively wants to kill you."

Linden actually grins and holds his hands up in surrender, "Am I allowed to say I told you so?"

"No."

"Alright. How about you should have listened to me, because I am always right?"

I scoff and turn away from him to collect my spear.

"No! Rose stop!"

I'm startled by his sudden yell, but I've already stepped and it's too late. I'm yanked upwards by my ankle and find myself dangling rather painfully upside down. A string of curse words escape my mouth and I try to reach up to feel whatever is holding me up, my efforts only make it only tighten further and I let out a whine of pain. Linden is in a complete flap, racing from one side of the clearing to the other and yelling at me the entire time.

"Oh shoot! I'm so sorry! Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! Don't move Rose! Just hold on! Bloody hell!"

"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" I spit at him, but hold as still as possible, blinking back pained tears from my eyes.

Linden disappears from my sight, but I can hear him still muttering so I don't freak out thinking that he's left me just yet. Still my breathing is short and fast as I fight down the familiar beginnings of a panic attack. I suddenly realise what a horribly vulnerable position I'm in. I can't defend myself, he could kill me right now, he could—

I completely flip out as the thought fully clarifies in my mind. The last time I was this helpless… I'm frozen in absolute terror for a long moment, then I start thrashing wildly, "Get me down! Let me g-"

I hear a loud thud, then I am sent tumbling to the ground in a heap. I'm shocked for a second, then I'm scrabbling across the ground, away from Linden who is approaching way too fast.

"Rosilda? Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I tried to warn-"

"Don't come any closer!" my voice is weak and terrified, my breath coming in shallow, sharp gasps, but I ball my hands into fists as he keeps moving forward.

"Rose? I-"

"No!" I scream at him, "Don't touch me!"

Something in me has snapped. It's not Linden walking towards me. It's Wren. He's holding a knife. He's leering at me, taunting me, daring me to tell him no. My head feels fuzzy and my vision blurs horribly as I'm thrown into a flashback for the first time in a year.

 _I'm confused as I wake up. My head is pounding painfully, and there's a dull ache in my wrist that burns with fire the minute I try to concentrate on it. My brain feels slow and sluggish, and my eye-lids feel as though they are weighted, I can't remember where I am… or what I'm doing. I try to lift my hand to rub my eyes, but find that I can't. A small whine meets my ears and with a start I realise that I made that noise._

 _"Ah Rosie! You're finally awake!"_

 _I begin to panic as I realise I can't move, even the tiny turn of my head in the direction of the voice nearly makes me blackout with effort. A rough hand suddenly seizes my chin and the world tilts alarmingly. Bile rises in my throat and pain surges through my entire body, specifically centring on my head and wrist. Unbidden my eyes close and darkness swamps me. When I force them open again, there is something heavy sitting on my torso. It's making it difficult to breathe and a sob escapes my throat as the alarm and fear returns. Someone is speaking and I try to concentrate on their words, but it's hard. It requires a lot of effort and for a while it's just white noise as I struggle to keep my eyes open and to suck in oxygen. I don't remember either being hard before. Funny the things you take for granted. When I finally manage to decipher the noise, I almost wish that I could go back to being unconscious,_

 _"You brought it upon yourself you know Rosie," the voice is saying mockingly, "You're a tease. You're a fucking, teasing whore! You made me do this! You've flirted with me all year! Complimented me, touched me, laughed at my jokes. I resisted you, but you reeled me in! And then when I finally got up the courage to ask you out, you said no! You made me look like an idiot! You humiliated me! Not anymore Rosie, after all the flirting you did, all that teasing, you don't get away with saying no!" Wren sneers down at me, roughly fumbling to undo the buttons on my dress, "How does it feel to be powerless Rosie? You can't say no now, can you? You're barely strong enough to keep your eyes open!"_

 _I moan and try to hit push him away with one leaden arm. It takes all my strength to hold my arm up there and I find that all I can do is try to hold onto my own clothes as he violently pulls them off me. I whine again as he catches my arm and holds it above my head at a painful angle, and try to wriggle beneath his weight. It's impossible. I'm too weak. Wren's face swims above me and goes blurry. The voice comes again, sounding further away than before._

 _"I've been waiting months for this Rosie," it almost sings as the dress is pushed off my shoulders._

 _I try to tell the voice to stop. I try to throw my arms over my chest to cover myself. I try to pull away. I can't. One hand is being held and the other hurts. It really, really hurts. I cling to the pain, because it makes it easier to think, easier to concentrate on the voice that is still speaking in the same low, mocking tone that makes fear course through me and dread coil in my stomach._

 _"…wrong what you do. You know it is Rosie, don't you? Maybe this will teach you a lesson!"_

 _I'm aware of my bra being pushed roughly aside and hot, sweaty hands being pressed to my skin. I try to scream. I try to call for help. I try to claw at the person - Wren. I try to tell the voice to go away, to shut up. But I can't. I can't move. It hurts. My hand feels wet, but I don't know why. I'm dizzy. Nothing makes sense. Why does nothing make sense?_

 _"…might even enjoy it. A teasing slut like you must get off in some way watching me suffer? I'd tell you to relax, but it's so much more amusing when you try and push me away. Too bad you can't say no, right Rosie? Why don't you try? Try and say no? Try to push me away?"_

 _I try. I try so hard it hurts and I nearly pass out again. All I can manage is a low, pained moan that sounds more like a dying animal than my voice. My arms won't move so I try to kick. My legs are too heavy. What's going on? Why is this happening?_

 _"Well… you aren't saying no. In fact you're moaning. Can you feel how hard that makes me Rosie? You're at my mercy! The great, Rosie Aspen! On her back with her legs spread at last! I can do whatever I like with you Rosie. You're powerless. You can't do anything to stop me. How does that make you feel?_

 _I'm cold. His hands are touching my legs. Biting into my thighs, pulling them open, no matter how hard I try to push against him. My eyes are leaking. I can't see. Why can't I see? Why does it hurt so much? Why is he doing this? I don't understand._

 _"Another moan!" Wren laughs, high and mocking, "You're enjoying this more than I thought. Let's see how you like this-"_

 _Violation. That's the last word my mind scrounges up as I muster all my energy and scream as loud as I possibly can. It's almost a relief when his fist hits my face. I can't hear what he's saying anymore. His words can't make me feel as though fear is ripping me apart anymore. No instead the ripping sensation is completely different… it hurts! It's agony! Why? Why? No! No! Please._

 _When the darkness finally consumes me entirely. Taking me away from the awful vulnerability of paralysation. The overwhelming confusion, dizziness and pain. The dirty, violated feeling of self-disgust. The terrifying, soul-destroying helplessness. And the agonising sadness and incomprehension. I sink into it gratefully. The dark is good. I'm safe there._

It isn't until much later that I realise the darkness, the inability to fight back, is what cost me my innocence, what destroyed my life and changed me forever.

 **...**

 **This chapter was very hard to write and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with how it's come out... I originally had no plans for Rose to meet up with Linden in the arena, but I've grown to like his character much more than I initially intended. I also think that he is a good tool for elaborating on what I've been hinting at throughout the story. I personally would find it very hard to write a character who had a legitimate and self-fuelled shot in the Hunger Games without some sort of explanation like Career training, hunting for survival like Katniss, intense need to get home etc. Someone like Finnick Odair you could spin as having a great deal of outside help, but I wanted to give reason for Rose's survival ability that was unique to her. Social Justice is also a concept that I believe strongly in and I think that the reality of date-rape and the consequences of this are something that needs to be more openly discussed to put an end to victim-blaming and the problem in general. As I said at the begging of the chapter however, I sincerely apologise if I have caused any offence and would be grateful for any insensitiveness to be pointed out to me.**

 **Thank you to everyone still reading and sticking with this story!**


	14. Chapter 14

**I just want to thank the people who have taken the time to review and actively support this story, you guys are what inspires me to keep writing and posting. This chapter is dedicated to all of you; but especially** **insanity keeps things fun** **,** **K9Train** **and** **She hated him- Nah she didn't** **.**

 **Again, trigger warnings for mention of rape, sexual violence, depression and suicidal thoughts, please proceed with caution!**

 *** Chapter Fourteen ***

It's dark when I regain control of my limbs and a strangled shriek escapes my mouth before my eyes snap open and light pours in. My breath is coming in short, terrified, gasps as I wildly look around, feeling myself over and realising that there's clothes on my body. I hold my shaking wrist up to my face to see the crimson gash there. There's no gaping wound, no blood; only pink, scarred flesh.

"Not real. Not real. Not real," I whisper, "It's over. He's not here. He's not here. It's over."

I bury my face in my hands, but can't repress the great heaving sobs that shake my entire body. I hate myself for my weakness. All of Panem is seeing this. _He_ is probably watching right now, satisfaction coursing through him as he sees proof of how broken I am because of him.

"Are you happy? Do you see what you've done!"

I jump so violently at the sudden yell and vicious hatred in Linden's voice that I smack my shoulder against the fallen tree I've been huddling against. I stare at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes as he shakes his fist at the sky, his face twisted with fury.

"How can any of you look at her and call her a liar!" he roars up at the sky, "How can you say she asked for it? How can you believe that… that pile of maggots over her? You shouldn't be able to bribe your way out of paying for ruining a girl's life! And the rest of you! Too scared to stand up for her, where were yo—"

I stagger to my feet and throw my arms around him. Immediately the fight goes out of Linden's shoulders and he hesitantly hugs me back, "You have three brothers," he finally says harshly, "How is the little worm still breathing?"

"The little worm is the son of the mayor," I reply calmly, "He kindly informed us that if his son came home with so much as a scratch, he'd have my entire family fired or whipped at the least and executed at the most. Robin and Laurel were only eleven, Laina was pregnant and I nearly died. The bastard gave me a shot of morphling, made sure I ingested enough alcohol to pass out anyway and tried to slit my wrist. The strain of what did happen nearly killed us anyway. Nobody would come to Mum and Laina's shop for weeks, Father was put on probation, Fletcher got himself suspended… Mum couldn't stop crying. If it wasn't for Glen and Tilia we all would have starved. Between paying the medical bills to make sure that I didn't die and trying to have some type of charge pressed, it's a wonder Laurel is still alive! She got so thin, she looked like she could just waste away…"

I stop myself from continuing, because I know that my words will only become angry and accusing if I go on much longer. I've never, ever, told anyone any of this. I've kept my mouth shut for four years, bottling the rage up inside me and using it as a mask, "You want to know 'what makes me so damn confident'?" I mutter darkly, sarcastically quoting Cato, "Try a hell of a lot of bottled up anger and being absolutely terrified of being seeing as weak, helpless or vulnerable. Not that I am," I add with a hiss, "Not anymore."

"W-why— I didn't know…" Linden finally says sounding rather lost, "I've never heard any of that… everyone was talking about you for months, but I've never heard any of that…"

"Maybe because you never asked," I suggest cooly, bending down to inspect my ankle, the leather of my boot is only slightly damaged from the tightness of the rope, but before I can pull it off to take a look at my ankle which feels a bit tender, Linden is speaking again.

"B- but surely s-some people-"

"Nobody asked," I clarify sharply, "Nobody wondered why Fletcher didn't come to school for a month. Nobody wanted to know why Father suddenly stopped coming to work, maybe they knew he'd been put on probation, maybe they didn't, nobody questioned it. Nobody cared that Laurel and Robin were starving to death in front of their eyes and the only things they had to say to me were, 'shame on you for making up such lies', or 'don't cry rape just because you regret it' or even, 'as if Wren Barclay would look at someone like you'!" I snort bitterly, then once again try to pull myself together.

Picking up my spear, I see that it's been cleaned and the turkey thing I caught has been cleaned and gutted. There's a pile of feathers beside the whole body of meat, but I barely look at it as I grasp my spear and stride over to where my backpack sits.

"And you know what," I say, as I swing the bag over my shoulder, wrenching my long hair out from under the strap, "I might hate what happened, but if it hadn't, I'd have no chance in these games. I was weak, too trusting, too innocent; I couldn't defend myself; I couldn't fight; I could barely lift Glen's axe. Now? Now I'm better, I'm stronger. I know that I can survive. I know that I'm so much stronger than everyone thinks," I smile grimly and casually heft my spear, "Maybe I'll pay Wren a visit if I win these games, thank him for giving me incentive to learn how to kill someone."

I turn and walk back towards the river at a fast pace. I've almost reached it by the time I hear Linden's footsteps after me. I tense slightly, but ignore him as I go to check my snares. I'm slightly alarmed to see how low in the sky the sun is, I must have been unconscious for a long time. I smile in triumph as I see the small, but plump water bird caught by his neck in my final snare. I pull the bird out and thrust it towards Linden, before crouching to reset the snare.

"Turn that into edible meat for me, will you Butcher-Boy?"

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" I ask in confusion, eyeing him warily, half expecting him to suddenly pull a knife.

His expression is twisted with guilt however and there's genuine sorrow in his eyes, "For what happened?" he suggests, scratching his head, "For never standing up for you? For not doing anything to help? I don't know what for exactly, I just know that I'm sorry."

I frown at him, "Take your pity and direct it towards the bird. It's dead, I'm alive, nothing more to it."

"No Rose," he says firmly, still with the guilty tone "There is more to it! What happened to you is horrible, there aren't words to explain just how bad what he did to you is. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, least of all you!"

"Two weeks ago I was just another random girl in he district," I remind him patiently, "That weird Aspen girl in some of your classes—"

"No Rose! You were the girl everyone knew. The girl who was admired, pitied, feared. I always believed you to some degree, but I was too afraid to say anything. You changed so much it would be stupid not to realise something had happened. You just always looked so confident... and angry, it was like you didn't need anyone. I was scared as hell of you. Most people are. But I always... I dunno, respected you? I'm sorry I never… saw past that?"

I study him for a moment, then slowly say, "Want to know what the strange thing is? After four years… sometimes I can't see past it either. I can't remember what it was like before really, so it's just normal now. I don't need anyone else besides's my family anymore. I don't mind so much. I used to be furious by what people said, I used to cry about the fact none of my 'friends' cared anymore, it's like one day I just woke up, accepted it and decided to move on…" I shrug and turn around again to check the snare has been set properly, "So thanks for the apology, but it's not really necessary. I stopped being angry at the entire world a while ago now. Guess that's humans for you, right? Eventually they have to get through the stages of grief and move on or they'll do something drastic."

"Something drastic?" Linden echoes faintly.

"Like try to reopen the scar they have on their wrist," I suggest dryly, waving my hand at him, "When I actually clued in to the fact that I was thinking about doing that way too often, I decided I really needed to try and move on."

Linden makes a strangled sound and I wonder if he thinks I'm insane to be able to speak so lightly of something so horrible. I straighten up and turn to face him. I meet his eyes and hold his gaze steadily, "Don't worry. I'm messing with you now, alright? I've never spoken to anyone about any of that before, I'm kind of freaking out. This is me coping."

"Yeah…" Linden murmured, eyeing me up and down, "I liked your other version of coping better…"

I smile slightly, "You mean the one where I zone out for important announcements, scream insults at the guy who wants to kill me, throw shoes at the wall and smash ludicrously expensive vases before deluding myself into thinking I can scrub away bruises with some soap and elbow grease?"

"Er… I was only there for the zoning out and Johanna yelling at you. I thought it was pretty funny when she asked if you'd have noticed if someone had declared their love for you on live television."

"Oh, hilarious," I deadpan, rolling my eyes, "It's not like I missed much, it was written all over Twelve's face that he cared about her anyway. This way they get to play the star-crossed lovers angle," I scoff, "Except for the fact The-Girl-On-Fire is blind as a bat, probably thinking he's making it up and no way in hell returns his feelings. Peeta knows it too if you ask me."

Linden's eyebrows rise, "I'm guessing he didn't give you any clues as to how she got an eleven?"

I smile wryly, "She's good with ropes, snares and edible plants. And she moves like I do."

"You mean she pops put of trees like some sort of nature spirit?"

"No," I say, shooting him a sharp glance, "She's used to trying not to be seen. She's fast and quiet and I'd be surprised if anyone manages to find her, least of all the human bulldozers. The Careers were so loud I heard them ten minutes before I even saw their torches!"

"What happened to rule number four?" Linden asks mildly, "Johanna was kind of firm when she told us about that one and it was definitely meant for you more than me."

"We're at least a day's walk away from the cornucopia," I frown, thinking back to my mentor telling me to stay the hell away from Cato with mixed feelings, "This is me following rule four! Technically you broke rules two and three - you could have killed me and you didn't, and after all the hassle you left my turkey behind!"

"First off it's a groosling. And you broke rule one! If you'd stopped and evaluated you surely wouldn't have missed my trap!"

I scowl at him, "I'd been sitting there for half an hour and not seen or heard any evidence of another tribute! I don't know how you managed to appear out of thin air Butcher-Boy because you're almost as bad as the Careers when it comes to being quiet in the woods!"

"I was up a tree," Linden confesses after a moment, "I fell asleep waiting to catch something. Next thing you know a spear comes out of nowhere and I climb down to run, but nobody comes for ages! Then you pop out of nothing and try to give me a heart attack!"

"Townie," I snort, "Falling asleep in a tree! That's called sleeping on the job Butcher-Boy, ten lashes if you're caught!"

"B-but… you're half townie!" Linden splutters in protest, "Your mother hasa shop!"

I shoot him an exasperated look, "My father is a lumberjack, Glen and Fletch are lumberjacks, I work as a lead climber, Rob and Laurel have been collecting pine-cones, berries and herbs for four years now, it's touch and go whether we can afford to pay for winter clothes and Tilia's apprenticeship, I've had the horrible experience of watching my little sister starve in front of my eyes and we've been saving all year for Tilia's dowry. Name one townie that's ever worried about starving to death! I'm a lumberjack and proud of it Butcher-Boy. Now come on, we've got a turkey to pick up, you've got some sort of bird to break into cookable pieces and I've got things to do before it gets dark!"

I don't wait for a reply, turning and striding confidently back into the trees towards the small clearing where Linden had stupidly left all his supplies. I know he's following me, because I can hear him clearly. He's actually nowhere near as bad as the Careers, he did grow up in Seven after all, but I doubt he'd ever be able to sneak up on me again. I decide that I quite like the little clearing I found, despite being caught in Linden's trap and the flashback it caused. I examine the place I know the trap is calculatingly and with a bit of searching, find the net filled with large rocks I assume Linden carried from the river. The snare hasn't been reset, so the net is much more obvious as it's hanging from the branch of the tree, rather than balanced precariously on it, waiting for someone or something to trip the wire so it will fall and cause the person or thing to be yanked up in the air.

"It's clever," I finally say grudgingly, "Reset it while I make a fire."

Linden grins and nods happily, keeping up a steady stream of chatter that I mostly tune out. He does as I've told him to do as I build a small fire, hurling the net of rocks back up the tree with much grunting and effort. I'm rather impressed, because for the trap to have caught me, the net must be heavier than I am. I don't let him see this though as I collect the turkey thing and start stuffing it with the herbs I found earlier.

"Rose! Look!"

I dive for my spear at Linden's sudden shout before I pick up on the excitement in his voice and realise that it's probably not something trying to kill us.

"Two!" Linden cries, as my eyes finally land on the parachutes floating down towards us, "Blimey! Couldn't have sent me some food or iodine I suppose… should have met up with you sooner!"

I laugh a little awkwardly before reaching up to catch the parachute heading towards me as Linden's hits him on the back of the head. I sit down cross legged on the ground and set my spear down beside me to open the parachute. Setting aside the canvas and the canister because they could come in useful, I snatch up the note. Funnily enough, I've missed Johanna's snarky, disagreeable presence, and I wonder what words of wisdom she has for me.

"Make him pay for it Thorns," I whisper quietly.

I smile fully. I know Johanna has left it purposefully vague to make the audience wonder if she's talking about Cato, Wren or someone else entirely, I also know that her words have double meaning. Make them all pay for what they've done to you. Wren, Cato, the Capitol: give them all hell. To do that I have to get out of the arena, and the use of her nickname for me is meant to do the same thing. Johanna Mason being uplifting and comforting? Strange.

"I will," I say firmly, promising both me and her.

I slip the note into the pocket of my trousers where it will be safe and unscrew the lid of the small container within. I actually stare in shock at the contents for a moment, before a giggle escapes my lips. Chocolate.

"Aw, you do have a soft, sentimental side Jo-Jo," I tease aloud, "Too bad we can't have a pillow fight and braid each other's hair."

"Please don't antagonise Johanna," Linden says weakly, "You do make a habit of pissing scary people off you know Rose. I'm not sure it's healthy."

I just laugh, "Johanna's poking as much fun at me as I am at her. She sent me chocolate. What did Hillier send you?"

He holds up the unopened canister, "I dunno, I can't get it open…"

I snicker and take it from him, handing it back once I've popped it open. Like me Linden reads the note first, he has a very different reaction to me, frowning in confusion at first, then looking up at me with dawning horror, "What is it?" I demand, then snatch the note from him when he doesn't immediately answer, "Johanna wanted to send a hat? What the hell does that mean? What did they send you?"

Linden silently opens the container and offers it to me. It's some sort of warm red sauce that I suppose is to go with the bird. I frown at it, then back at the note before the pieces slowly come together, "Did you ever say 'you'd eat a hat if you were wrong' in front of Johanna?"

The expression on Linden's face confirms my statement and I lift my eyebrows, "So you're wrong. What are you wrong about?"

Linden looks at me, long and hard and I almost get the feeling he's trying the telepathy thing again, because he has a similar expression on his face. I slowly start to frown at him as he continues to stare at me silently. By the time I reach a full-blown glare the pause has become awkward and he still hasn't explained. I groan in annoyance and go to glaze the turkey in the sauce we've been given, before spearing it on a spit and suspending it over my fire to cook.

"Do I need to know?" I ask, without looking at my district partner.

"No," the answer is quiet and not very confident, but I accept it.

"Do I deserve to know?"

"…maybe?"

"Could it get me killed if I don't know?"

"Unlikely."

"Has it got something to do with Two?" his silence is all the answer I need and I scowl darkly down at the fire, "But you aren't going to tell me anything?"

He still doesn't answer and I groan and return my attention to the cooking bird, turning the spit carefully. We're silent for a while as it cooks, which I think is probably best anyway, considering the smoke could be bringing our killers closer by the second. There's something about the silence though, normally I like silence, but this one feels charged and kind of awkward. I shift uncomfortably and turn the spit again, hoping he'll say something.

"I had the chance, you know," I finally say, my voice quiet, "I could have killed him… I would have lost my only weapon and had to disappear quickly, but I could have killed him and got away."

"And you didn't?"

I scowl down at the fire, "No, I didn't. I couldn't throw it," I swallow and add darkly, "Not after he spent all that time teaching me how. Guess that makes me weak, right?"

"Could you kill me?"

"What sort of question is that?" I demand, scowling at him, "Of course not!"

"Could you have killed Rue?" I freeze and wordlessly shake my head, "How about Peeta, could you kill him?"

I frown, "In the arena? If he attacked me? Of course."

"What about Glimmer? Could you kill her?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation, "But I actually want to kill her idiot of a district partner!"

"What about the boy from Eleven? The girl from Twelve? Or the boy from Ten? Could you kill them?" I nod and wonder if it makes me a monster. Ten wouldn't have a chance, with his bad foot, he wouldn't be able to run. And Twelve… she has a sister waiting back home for her. One she loves enough to volunteer for, "So you can kill the people you've never spoken to, the ones you barely know and the ones who would kill you. What about Clove? Would you kill her?"

I'm about to nod, when I hesitate and instead say, "I've barely spoken to her. She would kill me."

"But you'd hesitate to kill her," Linden says, "If she attacked you, you'd fight back, but you'd try to run before you killed her. Why is that, Rose?"

The answer comes to me at once and I feel myself turn to stone, "It's because she's his district partner, isn't it? She means something to him. You'd kill Twelve, even though they mean something to each other and you'd kill Eleven because he's a threat, despite him being Rue's partner. So what makes Two different?"

I don't answer, but Linden presses on, "I'm not sure there are many people you'd hesitate to kill Rose. The girl from Five maybe, I saw you talking to her a few times, you respect her. If anyone else attacked you, you'd kill them. But if I came at you with an axe, what would you do?"

"Stab you in the foot and run," I mumble.

"What if Five came at you with a knife?"

"She wouldn't," I say at once, "Direct confrontation isn't her style. If she did, she wouldn't be the same person I spoke to and respect. I'd kill her."

"If Clove had you pinned to the ground, a knife a your throat and was just about to slit your throat, would you kill her if you had the option?"

"Yes!" I snap angrily, "What's the point to this?"

"What if Cato came at you with a sword, what would you do?"

My jaw hardens, "I'd kill him," I spit.

"Would you?"

I glare at him with everything I have, "Yes. If any person in this arena tried to kill me, I would defend myself."

"Ah!" Linden cries, smirking slightly, "We've already decided that you'd kill everyone but me - thanks by the way - if they tried to kill you. And we know that you'd attack One, Eleven, Twelve and Ten-"

"Four too."

"Right. Forgot about her. If you got the opportunity, you'd attack everyone but Five, Two and me. Why is that?"

"I respect you," I snap, "I respect you enough not to throw my spear at your back!"

"We're getting there," Linden mutters, "You respect us? Alright then. Five I can understand, she's smart. I'm your district partner, that makes sense too. But the Careers from Two? Why do you respect them? You're not blood-thirsty Rosilda, so don't tell me it's because they're good fighters or will die a good death or something, why do you respect them?"

"I don't know!" I growl at him, "Because both of them see me as a threat?"

"You're proud, but you aren't that proud," Linden snorts, shaking his head, "It's because he did get into your head. You can kill the people you have no connection to, but as soon as it comes to me, or Five - who offered you an alliance too - or Cato, you can't do it. It's not because you respect us, it's because we mean something to you-"

"Training to be a shrink, Butcher-Boy?" I snarl, whipping around to glare at him, "You don't know me, you don't know what goes on in my head and-"

Linden starts laughing.

"Oh shut up!" I mutter, turning back to the turkey.

"Only you would blush bright red and still try and be intimidating."

I growl at him, "Hurry up and skin the bird Linden, we can't waste time."

He sighs and shakes his head mockingly, "And here was me thinking you're a 'no time like the present' girl. You're just as bad as all the girls at school with their denying, blushing, stammering and giggling. I thought you'd be one to march up and inform someone they're going on a date with you. But then I suppose you're not exactly conventional," he smirks, "Just so you know Rose, most boys don't understand that death threats are a sign of affection—"

"I didn't threaten to kill him!" I argue, "And I don't have any affection for him! He's an arrogant, barbaric, aggressive, sadistic and possessive bastard! He threatened to kill me numerous times, tried to scare me into sleeping with him and left disgusting, animalistic marks on my skin! I hate him—"

"But you didn't kill him when you had the chance," Linden points out, "You were the first ones in the elevator, but I was back for ages before you got there and I did see you, remember? You might have been furious and crying, but you're not the same girl Barclay drugged four years ago. You could have got Cato off you if you really wanted to. No matter what my prep team said about your training score, I know you earned that ten. It wasn't just a way to build up tension, you might not consider yourself a Career, but you've been trained to protect yourself. From that very situation in fact," Linden gave me a small smile and shook his head slightly in amused exasperation.

"Keep trying to convince yourself all you like Rose, but you don't hate him nearly as much as you say and you can't convince me otherwise. He got in your head the moment he lifted you into that chariot, told you to get used to being touched if you were going to walk around dressed like that and then walked away without a backwards glance. For all his talk, has he ever forced himself on you really? I doubt he would have restrained from punching anyone else that tried to stop him from going after Six. He's clearly a physical person and obviously he hurt you, but I don't think he meant to do it. If you ask me, you're in his head as much as he's in yours, but the big, bad Career has no idea how to deal with it. He was supposed to go into this sadistic, arrogant and intimidating and he can't separate that performance from however he sees you-"

"I overheard him and Clove talking," I cut him off with a frown, "It was all part of his strategy, he was trying to mess with me because they pegged me as a threat—"

He snorts, rudely cutting me off, "You two are as bad as each other. It would actually be quite funny if you weren't supposed to be killing each other."

"Linden," I say through gritted teeth, "I'm done talking about this. Skin the bloody bird so we can cook it and I can put out the fire. I won't even be able to hear people coming over your prattle at this rate!"

He does finally drop it and expertly provides me with the plucked and gutted bird for me to cook. I don't let him eat there, stamping out the fire and walking on a diagonal back to the river, "It's getting dark, we need to find somewhere to sleep anyway! Eat while you walk if you can't wait."

"All I've had to eat in the last two days are berries that I managed to find," he grumbles, "I'm starving."

I immediately feel guilty and pull out my packet of crackers and offer them to him, "You should have said something, idiot!"

We walk mostly in silence, but my thoughts have gone back to the conundrum of what the Careers are doing piling up their supplies and digging in the ground. I voice this to my district partner, because I'm going insane thinking myself in circles, still unable to figure any of it out.

"Have you seen that the Careers have piled their supplies up in this big pyramid?" I ask him quietly.

"What? No… I haven't been anywhere near the cornucopia," he sends me a meaningful look, but I ignore it.

"It's so strange. The boys from Three and Twelve have joined up with them. I can understand why they've kept Peeta alive, they want information on the Girl-on-Fire and how she got that eleven, but why not just kill Three? They kept talking about this risky and mental idea he's had, that's got something to do with the supplies. They'd dug all these random holes in the ground, but when I looked the next day, they'd all been covered up again. It's just odd, neither Clove or Cato seemed very taken with the idea, but for some reason they're still going along with it, that's not like them-"

A smirk slides across Linden's face and I growl at him, "Not like a Career," I reiterate, "Be serious Linden, I've got no idea what they've done but I feel like it's important!"

"Well what could they have been digging for?" Linden asks, "I doubt it was water or food… maybe they were looking for worms to fish with?"

I stare at him incredulously and he shrugs, "Bloody stupid of them in my opinion anyway," he says offhandedly, "what if they accidentally hit one of the mines around the pedestals?"

I stop walking. Cato's words suddenly come flooding back to me and I kick myself for not remembering them before. _The whelp from Three is so fidgety he's more likely to blow us sky-high than succeed_. They were trying to activate the mines. Why though? The answer hits me almost at once and I'm amazed I didn't see it. They're using the mines to protect the supplies. That's why all of the Careers left to hunt, they weren't worried about anyone stealing from them, because if someone tried, they'd be blown sky-high.

"They've mined the food," I say blankly in response to Linden's questioning glance, "They've booby-trapped it so nobody can steal from them."

Linden frowns, "That's a stupid thing to do! If someone does try to steal from them, they'll likely blow up all their supplies too! I know the Careers aren't exactly known for their brains, but really?"

A full-blown grin has spread across my face as I remember Cato's jabs at the waste of time survival stations were. Without their supplies, the Careers will be screwed. They're so dependent on them and have absolutely no idea how to scavenge food. The closest any of them got to a survival station was when Cato was having a go at me or when Marvel arrogantly proclaimed he was so good with all the weapons, he'd be better off building a hammock just so he could have a nap.

"They'll be dead without them," I say gleefully, "All you'd have to do is throw a few stones and boom! Then they'll be wishing they'd 'wasted their time at survival stations'. Cato will be furious! That'll show him too! And Glimmer! Making fun of Brinna's fire when she hasn't got a hope in hell of starting one without matches! Telling me the only reason someone goes to the edible plants station is to try and swallow a bunch of poisonous stuff before the trainer can stop you! This is all a game of odds, right? The Careers always have the odds tipped in their favour, they get the best weapons and supplies every year! Without them though…"

Linden looks like he doesn't know whether to be surprised, interested, exasperated or scared, "I don't think it'll be that easy Rosilda... If you blow their food they won't just want to kill you, they'll fantasise about cutting you into little pieces, torturing you, eating you alive! I'm not sure that would tip the odds in your favour. Besides, to get close enough to set it off, you'll end up dead or hurt in the explosions anyway! Remember rule number one! Don't rush into doing something stupid, stop and analyse!"

I scowl, but don't reply. I disagree with him, but I don't want to get into an argument about it. There's nothing I can do from here anyway. We're halfway across the arena from the supplies and he's partially right. It would be a big risk, it might be better to wait until the Career pack has thinned out a bit before deliberately pissing them off. I put it out of my mind and we walk for another half hour until I find a tree I like the look of about forty minutes from the river. Without a word to Linden, I climb up it, stopping on the higher of two flat branches close together and glancing questioningly down at him, "Aren't you coming?"

"You actually purposefully sleep in a tree?" he asks incredulously, "That high up? Aren't you scared you'll fall?"

"I'm a lead climber Townie," I smirk down at him, "I've got rope if you want to knot yourself in, just hurry and get up here while you can still see!"

The Gamemakers must hear me because by the time Linden reaches the branch just below me, I can barely see him. It's by the light of the anthem that I sort out our food, purify his water bottle for him and give him my rope to tie around himself. Nobody has died today so it's over quickly and we eat in silence as night settles around us. We don't manage to finish the two birds between us and I carefully wrap the leftovers for our breakfast tomorrow.

"Chocolate?" I ask, holding out a piece in his direction.

"Thanks," with a bit of fumbling I manage to press it into his hand and nibble on a bit myself.

"Thank you Johanna," I say sweetly after a moment, "If only Linden's hair was long enough to braid and I actually knew how to do girl-talk, this would be a regular slumber party where I cry over my broken heart."

"Do girls actually do that?"

"Laurel does. Laina and Tilia have always talked to each other about that sort of thing, but Laurel's got some weird idea that I'm supposed to know how to make a boy like her, or know what to say when she complains about being ugly. Robin's useless. Fletcher's even worse and the older three tell her she's too young and think it's cute. So she comes to me."

"Poor girl."

"I know," I sigh, wishing that I was a better older sister, "How about you? You have a younger sister too, right? …Hazel?"

"Oh don't worry, I'm a disappointment to her too. You should hear her nagging me about how I don't have a girlfriend! She says I never do anything exciting."

"You don't," I reply bluntly, "You're Mr Nice Guy. Rules aren't sacred, remember? Think about how much fun we had on the roof of the training centre! If I hadn't have dragged you up there, you would have sat around and made polite conversation with Anariel all day."

"I don't always follow the rules," he protests.

"Have you ever cut class? Or snuck out at night? Or swum in the river?"

"Hazel pushed me into the river once."

I just shake my head at him, "See, you fall into the same trap as everyone in the districts. You spend all your lives doing exactly what you're told, going about the same schedule your whole lives. You go to school. You survive the reapings. You graduate. You get a job. You get married. You pop out some kids. You watch them do the exact same thing. Then you die. Instead of appreciating the beauty of the trees, we cut them down, cursing every branch of new growth. The river is simply a way to transport the logs. We even eat the same food every single day because it's all we can afford. The least you can do is spice up your life. Climb a tree just to see the view. Collect flowers instead of pinecones. Sneak out to look at the stars. Cut class to see a foal being born. Get up to watch the sun rise. Sneak into the staffroom at school and mix up timetables or—"

"Switch the answer key for the end of year exams with a Capitol decree stating homework was being abolished? I always wondered who did that. Makes sense, I can't think of anyone else who would be able to do it without being caught."

"Who says it was me?" I ask mischievously.

"Why didn't you sneak in there and memorise the answers before the exam and get one hundred percent?"

"That's something Fletcher would do," I scoff, "Where's the fun in that? Don't you get it Linden, I meant what I said during the interviews, there's nothing I value more than the experiences I have. I don't really believe in fate, but I do like to think that every moment in my life has led me to the present and that you can't pick and choose. The good comes with the bad, if nothing bad happened, you wouldn't truly appreciate anything good," I trail off and add rather darkly, "Of course sometimes I wonder if the good is actually worth all the bad. In the end, life's a bitch and then you die. At least if you've had some good moments it makes you forget that for a while. If you go out and make the good things happen, if you look for opportunities to create something exciting and wonderful, then you're less likely to die wondering what the point of enduring all that suffering actually was."

I guess it's just another one of my coping mechanisms. I might have changed from when I was fourteen, but Rosie Aspen loved her life, she truly believed the world was a beautiful place and she couldn't understand why other people didn't stop to watch ducklings playing in the river, or why people wasted time sleeping in when they could get up to watch the sunrise and achieve so much before school started. I'm a completely different person now, but that doesn't mean I stopped noticing things like that. If I stopped living my life the way I want to live it, then it would be letting him win. It took a long time and I'll never go back to being that naive, innocent little girl who could only see good, but even though all the bad stuff became incredibly obvious to me and for months and months all I felt was anger and hatred, it gradually got better. It hurts to watch ducklings play in the river now and I don't have the patience for the menial acts I used to treasure. But I do find other ways to prove to myself all the pain and suffering was worth it. I still get up at sunrise, I still sneak out to look up at the stars or sleep in a tree just because. I let Laina use me as a model for her clothes. I still scare my brothers by popping up in unexpected places, and give my mother and sisters the slip in the market. It's not unconscious anymore. I don't do it without thinking because I'm entranced by the world's beauty or overwhelmed by giddy joy. I get twisted pleasure out of seeing my brothers jump in shock and sadistic satisfaction that it is my job to wake up my family members every morning. I'm not sweet, little Rosie Aspen anymore, but that doesn't mean Wren completely destroyed her that night.

The Capitol won't destroy her either. I've already had to rebuild my broken soul once, repair my heart and heal a mind that teetered on the edge of life-long paranoia and vulnerability. I've been brought right to the brink of destruction and come back before. I have no desire to go there again. I refuse to let the Games break me in the same way that Wren did.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by the quiet sound of chattering teeth. With guilty realisation I remember that Linden doesn't have any supplies. I unzip my jacket and take it off, "Here," I hold it out in his direction, "We'll have to sleep on the ground and share the sleeping bag tomorrow night. I should have thought about that before we climbed up, we'll break our necks if we try to climb down in the dark."

"It's yours," Linden weakly protests when he feels what it is I'm giving him.

"You need it more," I say firmly, "It's freezing."

"I can't take it Rose-"

"Shut up and forget your precious masculinity for one second. It's freezing, I have a sleeping bag, you don't. Take it!"

He grumbles something about chivalry and politeness, but I ignore him and he gives in. I'm cold, so he must be freezing. The Gamemakers are seriously messing with the temperatures. I suppose it's just another way to kill us off and keep things interesting. Because heaven forbid the Capitol got bored watching us fight to the death!

 **...**

 **So a pretty conversation heavy chapter... things are going to really pick up from the next chapter onwards, which I'm very excited about! Thanks so much for reading and please let me know what you think!**

 **\- xx**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: As always, I in no way own or claim to own any part of 'The Hunger Games', thank you to the wonderful Suzanne Collins, especially for the framework for the canon events that occur in this chapter.**

 *** Chapter Fifteen ***

I sleep fitfully; often waking with an irrational panic that I'm paralysed again, that Wren is coming for me and that I'm helpless to stop it. By the time the sky is beginning to lighten, I've been awake for a few hours, dread coiling in my stomach as I try to control inexplicable fear. By the faint light of dawn, I pull my backpack out from my sleeping bag and start to roll it up. I'm just attaching it to my backpack and deciding that my next job should be braiding back my hair when my instincts suddenly start screaming at me.

"Wake up!" I scream, before I've even figured out what the danger is, "Linden! Wake up!"

I've got my backpack on my back and buckled it, before my nose informs me what the problem is. _Smoke_. I seize my spear and half fling myself down the tree, screaming at Linden,

"Fire! We have to run! The river isn't far away! Come on!"

By the time Linden has managed to wake up and untie the knots holding him to the tree, the wall of fire is very visible and almost upon us. This is not a regular fire, I can feel the heat, but it's not the blistering furnace-like pressure that a natural forest-fire would cause and the alien uniformity makes it clearly a Gamemaker invention. Animals stampede through the forest, rushing past me as I yell at him to hurry up. As he climbs down, I seize the fallen rope and tie it quickly around my waist, frantic fingers forming familiar knots as I shout encouragement to my less agile district partner as he scrambles for the ground. In his haste, Linden falls. He lands awkwardly and I hear a sickening snap, but I don't wait. I hurl him up and half carry him, stumbling in the direction of the river.

"Come on! Help me!" I shriek at him, "Linden!"

He's extremely pale, his right leg won't hold his weight, but he grits his teeth and leans heavily on me, doing his best to move quickly. I can barely think I'm so consumed with panic. Smoke is making it hard to see and I don't have a jacket to bury my face in. My eyes sting and my throat burns. It's all I can do to keep moving, desperately hoping that the river isn't far away. I keep muttering encouragement to Linden until I can't for coughing so hard. I'm so focused on drawing in oxygen, remaining upright under his weight and just keeping moving in the direction of the bloody river, that I don't register the strange whistling until it's almost too late. I dive and duck away, pulling Linden with me, but I'm too late and both of us are thrown to the ground. Linden screams. It's an agony filled, inhuman scream that chills me to the bone. There's a burning pain in the arm that was wrapped around Linden, but I'm mostly unhurt and am on my feet again in moments, blindly racing towards the sound.

"Linden!" I scream, trying to get him up again, "Get up! Get up! We have to run!"

"Rose."

His voice is weak and I pause in my efforts to look him over. Almost immediately the smell of burning flesh assaults my nostrils. The left side of his body is badly burnt. Like really badly burnt. I get the distinct impression of charred black, searing red and melted fabric before I have to avert my eyes.

"Come on!" There's a distinct hysterical edge in my voice as I heave on his arm, "Get up Linden!" He's not helping me, his eyes are barely open and his breath is a rattling, choked gasp. His face is screwed up in agony. My heart seems to ache more with each beat as desperation grows in me, "Please!" I beg, "Linden! Get up! Don't just lie there!" I scream at him, tugging on his arm, even as his eyes fight to stay open.

"Rose…" he croaks, "… run."

"No!" I sob, "Not without you! Come on! Please!"

"You have to go," the words are barely recognisable, but there's a frantic expression on his burnt face as he weakly squeezes my hand, "I believe in you Rose."

I see the fireball coming straight for me and self preservation kicks in. I hurl myself away and stumble to my feet again. I turn to look back at my district partner, but I've lost him in the smoke and a burning branch crashes to the ground only inches in front of me. The way is blocked. To go back will be certain death. I feel as though I've been stabbed through the heart as I make my decision.

"I'm sorry," I gasp, then turn and run.

The cannon sounds only moments later and it makes it much easier, even as it destroys all hope. He's dead. Linden is dead. He's not in pain anymore. Strangled sobs escape my mouth as I sprint as fast as I can, blindly running in the direction I think is the river. This time I react faster to the whistling, ducking and dodging to the side as a fireball smashes passed me. It hits a tree and I scream as a burning piece of wood lodges itself in the side of my lower left thigh. To stop is death, so I don't pause. I just stagger on. It seems like eternity. My lungs are burning, my eyes streaming and I have no idea where I'm going anymore. I just run. Away from the blistering heat, agonising burning and from the body of my district partner.

I throw myself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a fire ball to the head, and scramble to my feet. I can't go on much longer. I can barely draw breath the smoke is so thick. My limbs are heavy. Agonising pain shoots through my left leg on every step and my ability to think has been reduced to: _Linden's dead. Don't stop running._ I repeat it over and over again in my head, using it to drive me on until I can't any longer. I crash to the ground for what feels like the hundredth time and this time I don't try to get up. I turn my head and peer in front of me, searching for something to hold onto in the moments before my death. I expect there to only be smoke. I expect to die surrounded by the toxic air, unable to see the sky, consumed by the fire. Instead I see trees and sunlight. With a weak cough, I drag myself forward, clambering first to my knees, then to my feet. The few steps it takes to burst out of the trees and collapse on the rocky bank of the river feels like a marathon. I continue to drag myself forward as I cough and gasp, the vague thought that the further from the trees I get, the clearer the air will be.

The ground disappears abruptly from beneath me and I end up tumbling head first into the river. At first I let myself sink into the water, revelling in the cold that soothes my burning body, but when my feet hit the muddy bed of the river, I kick up hard and hurl myself, coughing and spluttering to the opposite bank. I drag myself onto the rocks and lie there on my stomach, gasping desperately for oxygen with rattling lungs. Eventually I manage to pull myself upright and though my vision blurs for a second I am able to begin to access the damage. The first thing I realise is that I've impossibly clung to my spear through the entire ordeal, but that it's centimetres away from rolling into the river. I grab it at once and stare at it for a moment.

"That's taking rule two to an entire new level," my voice is a croak and talking hurts my throat, but it steadies me and the last of my blind panic dissipates. I set the spear down right next to me and turn my attention to my injuries.

There is a piece of wood stuck in my thigh.

The wrongness of this sight makes my head swim and bile rise in my throat, but I force it down and bend my head to examine it. I know the first thing about impaled objects is that you don't pull them out, but that's because you'll bleed to death. The skin around the piece of wood is most definitely cauterised so I doubt I'm in danger of that happening. I unclip my backpack and fish around in it until I find my first aid kit. It's rather large, so I hope it's extensive. Sure enough, when I open it up I find dressings and bandages of all shapes and sizes, a small container of pain-killers, two antibiotic pills, a small plastic bottle of sterilising fluid, a pair of tweezers and most importantly, burn ointment. It's a worryingly small container, but it's better than nothing. I pull out my drink bottle and greedily drink the entire thing, swallowing two of my pain killers and scooting close to the river to refill the bottle. I select a large bandage from the first-aid kit and set it aside with the sterilising fluid and burn ointment, packing everything else away and zipping it back into my backpack. I cut away the material around my wound carefully with my spear, then unscrew the lids of both the burn cream and sterilising liquid and place them within easy reach before steeling myself and ripping the piece of wood out as fast and smoothly as I can.

An angry hiss escapes my lips and I arch my back in pain, swallowing the shriek before it can burst from my lips. With shaking hands I splash the area with sterilising fluid and this time I can't help the choked moan that escapes my clenched jaw. I give myself a brief respite, panting for breath and blinking away pained tears as I hold the burn cream in one hand and carefully scoop a small amount onto my finger. My hands are shaking so badly that I nearly jab my finger into the terrible, angry red wound. My other hand clenches into a tight fist and every muscle in my body strains with agony as I slowly muster up the courage to slather the ointment on. The relief is almost immediate and I think it's this alone that gives me the strength to wrap the bandage around my thigh, before I collapse back against the rocks, gasping.

It takes a few minutes for me to regain my strength enough to sit back up, but when I do I first examine my right arm. It's red and blistered, but doesn't look nearly as bad as my leg, so I spread a very thin layer of ointment on it, then search my body for more burns. My face, I think. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as even my arm, but I can feel the burning heat across my right cheek. Because it's on my face, I use some of my precious ointment on this too, before deciding that everything else will be fine to heal on it's own. With a start I realise that my rope is still knotted around my waist, I can't help but smile as I inspect the knots. In my panic I used the ones I've been using everyday for years, more suited for hanging from a tree, than for a quick fix around my waist. I have just unzipped my back to put the burn ointment and sterilising fluid away before I begin unpicking the knots, when my pulse suddenly increases and my senses screech in warning. I shove the supplies in and zip the bag shut, pulling it over my shoulder and snatching up my spear as I lurch to my feet, my eyes scanning wildly. As before, I hear them before I see them, but not for long. _The Careers_. My brain has just processed the anger when my eyes land on them, emerging from the forest only twenty metres away. I turn to bolt and hear the yells.

"Look! It's the Tree-Rat!"

I don't look back to see how many of them there are, though I recognise the voice as belonging to Marvel. Oh yes, you I could kill in a heartbeat! I race over the rocks, running along the river, because running for the trees only brings me closer to them. I know I won't be able to out run them, not with a sore leg and smoke filled lungs, so my eyes search desperately for somewhere to lose them or something to distract them. I catch sight of the girl from Twelve in the same instant that she sees me. Her expression fills with surprise, then fear, but I don't hesitate, sprinting right past her and into the trees. I hear the Careers whooping as they too see her and desperately hope that she's smart enough to run in a different direction to me. She's obviously overcome with panic, because I can hear her footsteps behind me and they sure as hell aren't veering off in a different direction. I change directions desperately, knowing that it will be my ability to melt into shadows and hide in plain sight that will save me. I push myself to my limit, changing directions randomly again and searching frantically for a place to hide. The only problem is I can hear Twelve's footsteps right behind me.

"Stop following me!" I snarl over my shoulder, but when I catch sight of her determined expression, I realise she knows exactly what she's doing. The Careers have been hunting her the whole time, they'll follow her over me if we split up and she knows it. I curse her mentally and change tact. She's too close for me to lose her too and I'm near exhaustion by this point. I start looking up. I'm from Seven, I've been climbing trees my whole life, it's my job to climb to the top of trees and attach the safety lead, there is no way she will be able to climb as I high as I can. Hopefully I can hide in the thick foliage or jump to a nearby tree, leaving her to distract the Careers.

It's a desperate, horrible and selfish plan, but it's my only chance. I hastily shove my spear between my back and my backpack as I catch sight of the perfect tree. With a leap I catch hold of the branch and pull myself up easily. I scramble up the trunk of the tree with the nimble agility and speed of a lead-climber. I clamber up the trunk itself when the branches become too thin until I find myself a place to perch in the thick foliage at the top of the tree. With slow movements, I grasp the rope around my waist, pulling on it until I find the end. With practiced movements, I loop it around the trunk of the tree several times with one hand, my fingers forming the loops and knots easily, it's second nature, and coil the excess over my shoulder to be slowly let out as I move. Once I am securely knotted to the trunk, I climb down a metre or two and brace my feet against the trunk, holding the rope with both hands and allowing my weight to fall against the rope coiled over my shoulder and tied around my waist. I'm safe, a little uncomfortable, but safe. It's only then that I allow myself to look down.

I judge myself to be about a hundred feet above the ground. While most people would panic at this, I climb higher at least twice a week. Some of the pine trees back home push one hundred and fifty feet. The girl from Twelve has climbed higher than I expected, but is still a good sixty feet below me. She looks up and our eyes meet. I see the panic on her face, but harden my heart and press myself tightly to the trunk of the tree and go completely still as the Careers appear. I can't listen as they jeer at Twelve, keeping perfectly still and hoping they don't notice me.

"Where'd Tree-Rat go?" the girl from Four demands, but the others are all fixated on the Girl-on-Fire. The irony hits me and I decide to hold her partially accountable for the fire, though I logically know the blame rests on Seneca Crane and the Gamemakers. I'm surprised when Twelve manages to climb another twenty-five feet, balancing lightly on branches that I wouldn't risk stepping on. She must weigh practically nothing. My respect for her only rises when she manages to goad Cato - maybe the heaviest tribute in the arena - into following her. I watch carefully as he climbs. He's very strong and surprisingly nimble for someone of his size, but he has no hope of getting near her, he's simply too heavy. At twenty feet he pauses to look up at her, and I see a flash of unease cross his face. I don't know if I move slightly in response to this rare glimpse at true emotion, I can't think of what else could possibly cause his eyes to suddenly slide from Twelve to lock on me. Shock crosses his face and he simply stares at me as he blindly reaches for the next branch. I definitely move now, and a small cry escapes my lips as I see what will happen a moment before it does. He's too heavy; the branch is too thin.

He crashes to the ground making my eyes squeeze shut and me flinch sharply. That would have hurt. I control my expression and warily look down. He's lying on his back still staring up at me in disbelief. I don't look away and in the end it's Clove leaning over to check he's alright that breaks our eye-contact. I'm strangely calm as Cato leaps to his feet and starts swearing like a man possessed and contemptuously watch as Glimmer tries to climb the tree next. They should have sent Clove, she weighs less. When the branches start to creak ominously under her weight, the blonde from One stops and attempts to shoot Twelve. It's a hard angle and she doesn't have much room to move, but still her shot is laughable. I watch as Twelve seizes the arrow and waves it teasingly, see Glimmer climb back down the tree and can vaguely make out the Careers muttering to each other.

Cato is in an absolutely foul mood, but he hasn't said a single word about me being up the tree too. I don't really know what to make of this so I put it out of my mind and start to plan my escape route. About ten feet below me the branches of the neighbouring tree hang close enough for me to jump to. The problem is, it will quite literally be a leap of faith and I'm not exactly convinced I can make it, let alone do it without anyone noticing. Still, I can't hang suspended from the top of the tree for as long as it takes for something to happen. I can't easily reach any of my supplies and I don't even have a jacket because I gave mine to—

Linden.

My throat closes and I squeeze my eyes shut. I gave my jacket to Linden. But he's gone now. He's dead. My heart aches hollowly and there is a lump in my throat that I can't swallow, yet no tears burn at my eyes. I stare vacantly out over the forest, remembering my district partner, twisting my ring round and round my finger. I glance down at it sadly. It's the only thing I have of home now. My eyes shift from my finger to the girl sitting below me in the tree. I can see now that she's in a bad way. Half her hair has been burned off, and her leg looks worse than mine. She doesn't seem to have any first aid supplies, but she does have a sleeping bag, a small backpack and… a knife. There's agony on her face as she cuts a hole in her sleeping bag to dangle her injured leg out, and her eyes are dull and gazed over. With the way she looks I'm not sure she'll last too long, at least not without medicine. I don't feel a pang of pity or sympathy for her, but I do feel an odd sense of comradeship. We're two girls from outlying districts who attracted the attention of the Careers. The odds are not in our favour. We're underdogs. Stuck in the same tree quite literally. If only there was something to tip the odds in our favour.

I sigh quietly and go back to scanning the stretch of trunk between her and I, I'm looking for a safer place to leave this tree for the one next to it, but what I find is much more interesting. I don't know how I missed it on the way up. I can only assume I was in such a hurry and climbing on the other side of the trunk that I didn't notice. Five metres above the girl from Twelve's head is a tracker jacker nest.

...

I go completely still, my eyes widening with fear. _Holy shit_. It's a wonder Cato didn't disturb it with his spectacular fall. It's a wonder I managed to climb past it without getting myself killed. It's a miracle actually. We get wasp nests a lot in Seven, but tracker jacker's are not unusual either. They're vicious, deadly muttations, larger, more toxic, more aggressive and all together much worse than ordinary wasps. If you survive being stung - depending on how big you are, as few as three can probably kill you - you have to endure days of hallucinations that have driven more than one unfortunate person in my district mad. They say you're trapped in your nightmares. Helpless as fear drives you to insanity. A nest that size… it has to be tracker-jackers. I swallow thickly. Every smart person is afraid of tracker-jackers, but I'd say I have more reason to fear them than most. Being paralysed, helpless as you're forced to endure your worst fears and memories? I'm not sure I would be able to survive that with my sanity intact.

For a long time I hang there, completely motionless and stare at the nest. The smoke must have sedated them, I realise. That's why I was able to climb up, that's why a swarm wasn't released with all the shaking the tree's going through. That won't last for long, it'll wear off, then we'll all be in danger. I'm inclined to think that I would be safest as I'm above the nest, but I'm unwilling to test that theory. My fear for tracker-jackers in so extreme, it borderlines irrational.

It's after nearly an hour of pondering that I come to my conclusion. It's too risky for me to try and clamber down the tree and jump to the one over. Not only would the Careers most likely see me, but it would jolt the thin branch the tracker-jacker nest hangs off. I could release the entire swarm on myself. I'm not risking that. Therefore, I'm stuck in this tree just like Twelve. Which makes us allies.

I can't climb down to where she is, because I'd have to go right past the nest. I'm hesitant to move at all really. So if we're going to work as a team, it's going to have to be through silent communication. The idea that I have is insane. It's completely mental, but it might be the only chance we have. If one of us can somehow cut the branch the nest is hanging off, it should fall straight to the ground. The hive will only break open when it hits the ground and the mutations will be set on the Careers. Not only will it give us a chance to escape, but it will also severely weaken more than half of the remaining tributes and maybe even kill some of my largest competition. There are several problems with this plan. First of all, I can't cut through a branch with a spear. Second, the Careers aren't exactly going to sit around and watch me cut through a branch without noticing the nest. Third, if something goes wrong, the deadly wasps could be set on me - and it is without doubt the worst way I can possibly think of to die. Fourth, I'm too petrified to move. I'm scared that if I try to climb down the tree I'll disturb the nest, which leads back to the third problem with my idea. It takes another twenty minutes of thinking, mentally debating with myself, desperately trying to come up with an idea that doesn't threaten to send me into cardiac arrest because it terrifies me so much, and callously weighing the pros and cons before I decide on my course of action. The girl from Twelve has a knife and she's much closer to the hive, if anyone saws through the branch it'll have to be her. If she waits and uses the anthem as cover, she should be able to saw through it without the Careers hearing. All I have to do is get her attention and somehow convey this to her.

I snap a twig off a nearby branch and carefully drop it so it lands directly on her lap. She startles and looks up at me, a lot of surprise and quite a bit of resentment in her eyes. I point directly to the nest and mouth tracker jackers at her. She looks confused for a moment, but when her eyes land on the hive I see the same fearful horror on her face that threatens to consume me. She looks back up at me and we lock eyes, grimacing at each other. Then I point to her and mime cutting on my hand, before pointing down to the Careers. Again, she doesn't understand for a moment, but I eventually get the message across. Hesitation and uncertainty is clear on her face as he looks between me, the nest and the Careers. She holds her hands up to me and I wince as I see the burns that cover them. We simply stare at each other for a moment, than I grudgingly hold up my hand in a 'hold on' gesture and carefully move about the tree until I have wedged my feet into a tight gap between two small branches and the trunk of the tree. Some awkward manoeuvring and I can carefully unzip the bag and find my burn ointment. The container is small and I don't want to give her all of it, but after a bit of careful work, I have scooped out half of it for myself, leaving her with enough to treat her leg and hands at least. Seeing as the antibiotics in my first-aid kit are large and bright red, I toss them in with the small white painkillers without second thought, effectively giving me an empty container to fill with my half of the burn ointment. I wipe the excess ointment on my burnt arm so as not to waste it and carefully put everything back in my bag.

Twelve has been watching me curiously the entire time, but when I hold up the medicine, her eyes widen with incredulous hope. I take a deep breath and drop the ointment. It heads straight for her lap, but she catches it easily anyway, greedily opening it and applying the ointment to her leg, followed by her hands. She doesn't use all of it, but I doubt there is much more than enough to apply a very thin second coat. Still there is undisguised relief on her face as the Capitol medicine works its magic and she mouths a very sincere 'thank you' at me. I simply nod and point at the tracker jacker nest. Her expression hardens slightly, but she grudgingly accepts with a nod, then point up at the sky and mouths 'anthem' at me. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face and I shoot her a thumbs up. She got it without me having to try and explain it!

While we wait for the sky to darken and the anthem to start, I sip slowly at my bottle of water and eat my remaining berries and roots and left over meat from the groosling and water-bird. I also allow myself a piece of chocolate. It reminds me of my last meal with Linden and I don't try to suppress the sadness. The reality that he's gone, _dead_ , and not coming back... I'm not entirely sure it's sunk in yet. I've been running on adrenaline all day, dealing with one threat after the other and it's only now, as I face the couple of hours until the sun goes down that I actually have time to grieve. I close my eyes and steady my breathing, picturing his face in my mind. The easy smile, kind eyes and floppy hair. The way he spoke to me on the train, as if I was a friendly acquaintance in the same mildly annoying circumstance as he was. The comfort he offered me during the tribute's parade. The way he stuck up for me to Johanna. The easy jokes at breakfast and small smiles during training. The silent support when I stood up to Cato in front of all the other tributes. The fact that he managed to make me laugh. The evening on the roof. The concern over my encounters with Cato. His warnings, support and comfort. The way he was polite and friendly with everyone, from screwed up me, and snarky Johanna, to timid Anariel and grumpy Hillier. His words at the interviews about me being like a sister. His flustered panic when I triggered his trap. His uncharacteristic anger at Wren after he saw how screwed up I actually am. I even fondly recall our more trying conversation the previous evening before finally coming to his selflessness, the inherent kindness he still possessed even as he was dying.

 _Rose. Rose… run…You have to go. I believe in you Rose._

A single tear seeps from the corner of my right eye, but my eyes remain closed and I do not move to brush it away. _Goodbye Linden. I'll never forget your kindness or your loyalty. You deserved better than this._ My hand slips into one of the many pockets on my trousers and I pull out the small slip of paper. I crack open my eyes and re-read Johanna's words. _Make him pay for it Thorns._ I clasp my hand shut around the note and look up at the sky. _I will Linden, I promise I'll make them pay._

 **...**

 **Thank you so much to all you lovely readers and especially to those amazing reviewers who are so encouraging and supportive of me and this story! The problem with writing for this universe is that you inevitably have to kill a lot of people and I genuinely hate the way Linden had to go. He deserved better, but that's kind of the point I think. Rose has never been a fan of the Capitol, but she's never been overtly rebellious either, do you think that will change now? Has it changed? Do you think she'll be able to go through with the plan when she realises she'll be dumping tracker jacks on** ** _Cato_** **?**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **\- xx**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hoping this chapter makes up for the couple of weeks I've gone without updating! *hides face guiltily***

 **Enjoy!**

 **...**

 *** Chapter Sixteen ***

When the sky starts to dim I begin organising myself. I take another mouthful of water, then make sure all my supplies are secured in my backpack. My spear proves troublesome once again and I clasp it between my legs as I wriggle the backpack onto my back and clip the strap under my arms, before wedging it between my back and the bag once more. I don't want to think about the danger I'll be in if it falls… or if I fall!

Falling out of a tree and being impaled on your own spear just doesn't seem like a very good way to go.

With a slight shudder, I climb slowly and carefully back up towards where I knotted myself to the tree. Ideally I would let the rope out and lower myself to branches that will actually bear my weight, that would mean leaving my rope in the tree however and I don't want to lose any of my supplies. I soon realise that I might not actually have a choice. The place where I tied the rope has very few handholds and I'm vaguely impressed that I managed to cling on with one hand while I tied the rope. I examine the knots for a moment and realise why it is we use metal hooks and create more than one anchor. With a sigh, I climb down as low as I dare, being extremely careful so as not to disturb the tracker jacker nest. When I reach a place that I can safely transfer my weight off the rope and back onto the tree, I pull out my spear and after a few moments manage to cut through my safety line. I don't waste time or rope tying another one, just tighten the coil over my shoulder and position myself so I can easily look down. The sky is dark enough now that the anthem can't be far away, and I've managed to move down so I'm now only about twenty feet above the tracker jacker nest. I don't dare go any closer because I can hear their subdued, yet still angry buzzing. The girl from Twelve has carefully climbed up and is only a few metres below the hive now. She pauses and looks up, probably searching for me, but she doesn't see me and I don't try to catch her attention. While she ever so slowly inches her way closer to the deadly wasps and waits, her knife poised for the anthem to begin, I direct my attention down to the Careers.

They're all there, One, Two, the girl from Four and Peeta. They've left Three behind again and I wonder how far away we are from the cornucopia. It might have been a day's walk through the thick forest, but I ran for what felt like an hour at full speed this morning and I didn't recognise the stretch of river from following it the day before. I frown as I realise I should have paid more attention to the view from my higher vantage point in the tree, but reason there's nothing I can do now. The Careers have built a fire and it makes it easy to see them in the dimming light. Glimmer is reclining against the trunk of the tree, directly below me and I glare daggers at her as I begin to actually listen in on their conversation. She's giggling and making eyes at Cato, messing around with her silver flashlight. This annoys me because I know the dumb, flirty blonde act is just a ploy to get sponsors and make people underestimate her. She's smarter than I initially gave her credit for and I saw her deadly abilities during the Bloodbath. Marvel and Marina are on the other side of the fire, talking and laughing as though they don't have a care in the world. Every now and again Marvel will crack a joke and both girls will giggle flirtatiously. I roll my eyes and turn my attention to the other three. Both Clove and Cato are in rather bad moods, with the former using a lizard for target practice and the latter glaring up at the tree from further away from the fire. He's put his night vision glasses on and has his sword gripped tightly in his hand, I get the impression he's trying to find Twelve and I amongst the branches. I dislike the fact that my brain immediately notes he'll have a large chance of getting away with the aid of his glasses and that this doesn't disappoint or anger me - like it should! - but instead makes me feel something strangely close to relief.

Peeta, the final tribute beneath our tree is also a fair distance from the fire and therefore from where the nest will fall. He's set apart from the others, even more-so than Cato and Clove who are united in their detachment from the ones around the fire, but still close enough to participate in their conversation if they want to. I realise that Peeta must be going through emotional agony, his district partner, who he definitely cares for quite a bit, is stuck up a tree, injured and in pain, while he's stuck amongst the people who want to kill her, outnumbered, outclassed and unable to help her. He certainly looks rather miserable.

I glance down at the girl from Twelve, who is waiting tensely, her eyes on the sky. I look up too and a moment later the anthem begins. Immediately adrenaline starts pumping through my system, my heart rate skyrockets and my breathing picks up. My eyes snap to Twelve, she's already focused on her task. I can make out her determined expression in the light of the anthem and can see her arm moving, though the music does it's task well and I can't hear her sawing away at the branch. I glance down at the Careers. Clove has risen to her feet and is standing beside Cato, looking up at the sky with a curious expression on her face The three around the fire have fallen silent, but haven't moved and Peeta just looks even more miserable than before. None of them know who the cannon belonged to. I realise and glance up at the sky, just as the Capitol seal is replaced by Linden's face. A jolt of pain shoots through my chest and I tear my eyes away. I have to be ready to move.

"Ha! I wonder if the Tree-Rat's crying!" Marina laughs sadistically, "Serves her right for killing Bien! I hope it really hurts Seven!"

I move sharply, my hand flying reflexively to my spear and my lips curling in a snarl. Cato's head snaps towards me and though I can't tell for sure because his eyes are hidden behind his glasses, I'm pretty sure he's staring right at me as he smoothly rises to his feet. I glance down to where Twelve is perched, the branch she's cutting through is beginning to bend alarmingly. The anthem is winding down, but with only a few more saws, the branch will crash to the ground.

I swallow thickly and stare back at Cato. _Run_. My mouth forms the word before I think about it and Cato immediately tenses, one hand shooting out to grip Clove's arm and the other snatching up his backpack.

Clove is frowning and opens her mouth to snap at him, but then the light of the anthem fades and there's an almighty crash. The branch seems to fall in slow motion and for a moment there's only silence, then it hits the ground and the nest smashes open. The swarm of tracker jackers takes to the air immediately, locking in on their targets. They might have been sedated by the smoke, but with all the shaking of Twelve and I moving about the tree and their home being smashed to the ground, they're very much awake now.

It's chaos. Complete and utter mayhem. Cato and Clove are already running and Peeta stumbles after them. They're lucky, Cato can see and he's dragging Clove after him. Peeta was far enough away and quick enough to react that he can blindly follow them.

"To the lake!" Clove is shouting and the others try to follow her voice.

Marvel and Marina stagger after her, though I'm not sure they'll make it. Both of them have their jackets on and zipped up however, which offers them some form of protection. Glimmer isn't so lucky; she doesn't have her jacket on and is shrieking hysterically. Having had the nest burst barely a metre away from her she's already covered in stings. She does have the idea to throw herself over the fire, putting the flames and smoke between herself and the wasps. It's not enough though and she barely makes it a few metres, weakly calling for help, before collapsing to the ground and falling into vicious convulsions. I've only just started climbing down when Twelve half falls the rest of the way to the ground. From the way she staggers drunkenly, I'm fairly sure she was stung at least once. I pause as I watch her run off in the opposite direction to the lake, then quickly continue my own descent. No wasps appeared to chase her and the nest is nothing but a broken shell, so I figure it's safe for me to hit the ground too.

By the time I have clambered eighty odd feet back down my tree, a significant time has gone past and I realise I'm going to have to hurry. You can bet that the Careers will be back as soon as they've gotten the wasps off their tails and I definitely do not want to be here when they return. In their haste to get away they have left half their supplies and I stop to snatch up a fallen knife and Glimmer's abandoned jacket to replace mine. The jacket gets hurriedly tied around my waist as I rush to the foot of the tree. There's something specific that I want. My eyes catch sight of the silver metal and I snatch up the torch at once, before finally turning to flee. I'm frozen for a moment as I catch sight of Glimmer's body and a shudder runs through mine as I realise she's stopped twitching. Her beauty is gone, her features swollen and distorted. Some of the stings have exploded, covering her in venom and pus, but everywhere else her skin is tight, purple and shiny. It's a terrible, horrible death and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I glance down at the jacket I tied around my waist and feel dreadful guilt churn in my stomach. Johanna's going to kill me.

I'm aware that the cannon hasn't gone off yet, but it can't be far away. There's no way her body can fight that much venom for long. I steel myself as I crouch down beside her and reach out with shaking hands and brave touching her skin to release the bow from her fingers. It's hard and I almost give up, but eventually I manage to free it. Her limbs are swollen to twice their normal size and grotesquely disfigured, but I cross her arms over her chest and push some of her hair off her face. It's her hair that marks her as Glimmer, the only recognisable feature left, so when I untie the jacket and spread it open, laying it over it's owner to hide some of the worst damage, I make sure a halo of it is visible. The black jacket is impersonal and not at all eloquent, but it's the best I have and I hope it will bring her death some dignity. The cannon sounds just as I place the silver bow on top of her and I pick up my torch and knife and straighten up.

"Nobody deserves to die like that. I'm sorry Glimmer. I know you valued dignity."

I have barely finished the words, when I become aware of quiet footfalls right behind me and twist out of the way as the girl from Twelve lunges for me. It turns out not to be me she's diving for and I'm frozen in shock as she snatches up the bow and shoves on Glimmer's abused body to try and free the quiver strapped to her back. I'm shocked by her single-mindedness and her lack of respect for the dead and before I know what I'm doing, I'm shoving her aside, my knife held comfortably in my hand.

"Show some respect Twelve!" I hiss, keeping one eye on her as I gently remove the quiver and reach to cover Glimmer's face again. As I do it another cannon sounds, for Marvel or Marina, I think. The sound seems to startle the girl from Twelve and panic crosses her face, it's the only warning I get as she suddenly lets out a feral shriek and dives at me, her fingers clawing for my throat. Her eyes are have crazed, her expression twisted with loathing and I wonder if the tracker-jacker venom is making her hallucinate I'm some sort of monster.

She's abandoned her knife in her frenzied state and doesn't seem to care that I'm still holding mine as she tries to wrap her fingers around my throat. I twist and writhe, kicking her hard in the stomach and punching my fist into her jugular. She gasps for breath and releases me, letting me kick her off and turn to drive my knife into her exposed back. I lunge, but she rolls away, faster than I expected, she's still fixated on the bow and quiver and clambers to her feet as she snatches up the bow, swinging it wildly at me to try and reach the arrows. It connects with the side of my head painfully and I scramble away, my hand flying to the wound, hot blood wetting my fingers. I don't want the bow or the arrows, but she's half insane from stings. I can see one on her cheek and another on her neck, both of them swollen and oozing pus and like a tracker jacker, she's honed in on me as the enemy. I shoulder roll away as she swings at me again with the bow and manage to get to my feet. I don't waste time and lunge at her, getting in a good swipe with my knife and knocking the bow from her hands. She screeches and clutches at her bicep where I've cut her and finally hones in on my knife as a threat, kicking at me and trying to prise it from my grip. I grimly hold on and twist and roll until I have her in a classic head lock. She's still struggling against me, lashing out with her hands and feet and my muscles burn as I try to hold on. An angry roar comes from behind me and I realise with a start that the Careers are coming back. The thought has only just formed when a bigger body collides with me, physically hurling me off the ground, breaking my choke hold and throwing me painfully into the trunk of the tree. I lie there is shock for a moment, my body aching, then hurriedly roll so I can see what's happening for fear that the person will come after me.

It's Peeta and he doesn't spare me a second look, yelling at his district partner to run. She seizes the bow and quiver and staggers off without a backwards just as the Career I least want to see barrels into the clearing from the opposite side. He takes one look at me still on the ground and lunges at Peeta with a roar. I'm horrified and surprised by the fact that when Peeta leaps out of the way, Cato staggers and nearly falls, until I spot three stingers in the middle of swollen lumps. Stupid boy should have pulled them out straight away! I clamber to my feet and spot my spear a few metres away, realising it must have been dislodged when Twelve grabbed me. I snatch it up and turn back to the two boys with wide eyes. I know I should run, but my feet refuse to move. Peeta doesn't have a weapon and Cato has his sword, but despite being the person that got away from the wasps the quickest, the Career appears more affected by his stings. I can only see one on Peeta and decide the wasps must have honed in on the people closest to the tree. I heft my spear and throw it. I don't want to risk hitting Cato so the spear is wide and barely clips Peeta's shoulder, but it distracts him as I intended and this time when Cato lunges for the other blonde boy with a shout, he manages to slash a deep wound across the top of Peeta's leg.

Peeta shouts out in pain and blindly throws a punch at Cato. A cry escapes my throat as it connects solidly with Cato's head and the Career stumbles, his eyes dazedly turning to me before he slumps to the ground unconscious. I seize my knife and sprint for Peeta who has got Cato by the front of his shirt and looks to be about to throw another punch. He sees me coming and releases Cato, stumbling back and shoving the huge boy towards me. I drop the knife as Cato's dead weight slams into me, sending both of us to the ground. By the time I have managed to push Cato's unconscious body off me, the boy from Twelve has disappeared. I can hear him crashing through the forest, but I'm not about to chase after him. I sit beside Cato's unconscious body, breathing heavily for a long time. The girl from Twelve got some good punches in and being thrown into a tree is not exactly a nice experience. My head is pounding and blood is trickling down the side of my face from where Twelve hit me with her bow. Everything has happened so fast and my ability to process it is severely compromised. Once my breathing as slowed some what and I can no longer hear any footsteps, I turn and examine the huge boy next to me. My knife is gripped in my hand and he's out cold. _It would be so easy._

"Come on Rosilda!" I snap at myself, focusing on Cato's exposed neck, "Heroes don't win the Hunger Games. Kill him!"

My arm refuses to move and all I can think as I stare at his neck is that I should really remove the barb from the sting there. I growl quietly and squeeze my eyes shut.

"Kill him, before he kills you! Rule number three! It's kill or be killed!"

I crack my eyes open, but this time they roam his face. His expression is tight with pain and his eyes are twitching. Hallucinations. I think. I reach out and touch his forehead unthinkingly. It's burning hot, fever the body's natural defence against the venom. I don't recall making the decision, I just find myself searching through my backpack until I find tweezers. I hold the torch in my right hand and the tweezers in my left, grit my teeth and get to work. I pull the barb out of the sting on his neck, then carefully remove the one from an extra nasty looking one right under his eye. The sting on his bicep is next, but I have to take his jacket off first to reach it. It's only once I've removed it that I despairingly see the fourth and fifth stings.

"How are you even still breathing?" I mutter, frowning at the two small holes in his t-shirt. One sting is right under his left rib cage, the other is on the right side of his broad chest only a few inches below his shoulder socket. I hesitate for only a moment before tugging at his shirt, pressing my lips in a thin line and shining the torch directly onto his exposed skin. I try my best to focus on removing the two barbs, but my cheeks grow steadily redder and redder as I fail at stopping my eyes from giving his smooth, muscular chest a once over…. and a twice over… and even a third over. The moment I have removed the last sting, I spring away from him as if I've been burnt and go to rest my head against the tree at the opposite side of the small clearing.

 _Bloody hell Rose!_

"Johanna Mason," I whisper quietly, "You were wrong. Like really, _really_ wrong. I'm sorry." I can picture the scenes of destruction, hear her yelling and cursing me and I flinch hard, "I can't kill him," the words come out hollow and bitter, "Linden was right, I'm _not_ strong enough."

I slam my fist against the tree hard and whirl around, stomping back to Cato. The best option - seeing as I'm too weak to kill him - is for me to take my things and leave. Chances are he'll die from the venom within a few days. I aim a furious kick at my backpack, because I've already made up my mind, I just don't want to admit it.

"Stupid, idiotic, weak-minded, piece of rotting wood," I hiss, "Damnit Rose!"

I pack away all of my things, as well as any food, weapons and other useful things I find around the campsite. Amongst them is a black tarpaulin, which I lay out beside Cato and with a fair bit of effort roll him onto. I stamp out the fire, shut off the torch and take Cato's night-vision glasses. It takes an hour before I manage to rig up the litter. There's no way I can carry Cato, so he gets to be dragged. Serves the bloody bastard right! I use the reminder of my rope and my sleeping bag to make it as easy for me and as comfortable for him as possible.

"If I do all this and you kill me," I mutter at one point to the motionless Career, "I swear I will haunt you for the rest of your worthless life."

I set off in the direction of the river, knowing that I'll need water to clean up all his stings and that it will be easier to drag him over rock than through forest. Still, it's the direction Peeta went, so in the end I stick to the tree line, journeying parallel to the river. I drag him along for nearly three hours, at which point I'm so exhausted I can barely walk. It has been slow going and I've had to take short breaks every fifteen minutes or so to rest my aching arms, collect leaves to treat his stings and to hide the rather obvious trail we're leaving behind us, so I'm not actually sure how far I've managed to take him. Far enough, I reason, that anyone who goes back to the campsite, won't easily find us. I take a mouthful of water for myself and crack open Cato's lips to dribble some into his, then get to work. The first thing I do is put Cato's jacket on, because I'm freezing and he's in my sleeping bag. Then I go to fill both my food containers with water and set them aside. I pull out a bundle of swabs, dressings and bandages from my first aid kit and pop a few of the leaves into my mouth to chew on. I unzip the sleeping bag and with quite a bit of difficulty pull it out from under him and fold it down. I'm much more clinical when I peel his t-shirt off this time. I'm exhausted and I have to do this before I can sleep or he'll die and this'll be a complete waste of time. The t-shirt is pulled over his head and tossed to the side, exposing all five of his stings and his body from the waist up to the cold night air. It can't be helped, but I do try and work quickly.

It's disgusting work. Chew the leaves. Dumb them on the stings. Watch them draw out the pus and venom. Wash it away with water. Repeat. It takes four lots of leaves on each sting before the masses of swelling starts to noticeably go down. The sting on his face is the most problematic, because the pus and venom wants to run straight into his eye. In the end I have to work with his head resting in my lap so I can carefully wash it off his face before it can go anywhere near his nose, eyes or mouth. As a result, I get the disgusting liquid all over my legs and the bottom of his jacket and my mood steadily worsens. By the time I am finished, I have had to make three more trips to the river, my trousers are drenched in water mixed with other more disgusting fluids, I have to fight to keep my eyes open, the sky is beginning to lighten as dawn approaches and each sting has been treated to at least five lots of chewed leaves and subsequent dousings in cold water, before I bandaged each one with more chewed leaves and padded dressings.

I stare down at Cato's face, slightly dazed with fatigue. He's frowning and shivering so I use his t-shirt to dry him off some-what and zip the sleeping bag up to his chin. My fingers thread through his hair without me thinking about it as I consider the events of the last twenty-four hours. It's really no wonder I'm utterly exhausted. I've had to run for my life twice, been forced to abandon my district partner to a terrible death in Gamemaker fire, been burnt, battered and bruised, held myself one hundred feet in the air for hours, been in almost a constant state of terror, tried to kill a large number of people - two of which did die - seen Glimmer's gruesome, nightmarish demise, been only moments away from snuffing out the Girl-on-Fire when I was literally thrown into a tree, faced the emotional strain of realising I can't kill Cato, dragged a one hundred kilo pile of muscle for three hours through the forest in the middle of the night and spent at least several more dealing with wounds that seriously make me want to vomit. _So don't try and tell me you had a bad day!_

I glance back down at Cato and realise that I'm stroking his hair. I blanch and stand up. While I chose the place to stop well, the sun will be rising soon and we'll need more camouflage to stay hidden. I shift Cato closer to the fallen tree, slathering decomposing leaves, dirt and a few rocks on and around him. The grass is rather long anyway and in the shadow of the tree he's practically invisible. I fold up the tarpaulin, and gather the rope, shoving them and a few of my other scattered supplies back into my backpack. I pick up Cato's sword and remove two knives from his belt. I hesitate for a few moments, then psych myself up to do a full pat down. The only thing I find in his trouser pockets are some matches and he doesn't have a knife hidden in his boots either, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Finally, with hazy exhaustion, I climb up a tree nearby and settle in to get a few hours of much deserved sleep. The branch I choose is right above Cato and when I look down I can clearly see his face. I hide his sword and knives as well as my spear, in a hollow knot in the trunk of the tree near my head, then lean back and close my eyes.

When I wake up again I fly into a panic. There's something horribly wrong with my eyes, the world is fractured and too bright, _I can't see_. A noise of distress escapes my mouth and my hands fly to my eyes. It's with relief that I wrench the night-vision goggles off and realise that my eyes are working perfectly fine. I've been asleep for hours. When I drifted off it was maybe an hour before dawn, the position of the sun tells me that it's mid afternoon. I look down and breathe out a sigh of relief as I see Cato lying exactly where I left him. I pass the rest of the afternoon easily. I change Cato's leaves and dressings. Trickle some water down his throat. Swim in the river with the intent of cleaning myself, scrubbing at the stains in my clothes, rinsing through and combing my hair and tying it up in a long pony-tail once it dries. I forage for food and manage to spear a sizeable fish in the river. I'm feeling rather proud of myself as I put some more burn ointment on my thigh, while the fish cooks over the small fire I make fifteen minutes away from where I've left Cato. I return to him to eat my fish and mash some berries into liquid to feed him. The hallucinations seem to be bad, because he moans and calls out a few times, once even thrashing around in panic. I do my best to help, squeezing his hand and smoothing his hair, but there's not much I can do. At one point I stand up with the intent of setting up some snares, but almost straight after I release his hand, Cato lets loose a terrible yell, his hands flying up as if he's trying to fight something off. The terrible, rattling breaths send fear straight to my stomach. They sound exactly like the patients Tilia nurses who have some sort of infection in their lungs. The moment they start breathing like that, Tilia sends for their family. It means they haven't got much time left.

"Don't you fucking dare!" I whisper hoarsely, my legs refusing to move as Cato continues to try and fight invisible monsters.

It takes me a moment to realise that I'm ordering him not to die, but the fear in my heart means that I don't waste time wondering at my reaction. I'm just petrified, desperately trying to think of what I can do to help him.

"Rosilda!" my name is garbled, but it's still recognisable and Cato sounds absolutely anguished.

I surge forward, trying to duck under his flailing arms, but getting a sharp blow to my collarbone and another to my cheek before I manage to pull his head into my lap to stop him from hurting himself with his thrashing and grab his arms,

"Shh, it's okay," I choke out, "It's okay. I'm here, I'm okay."

He relaxes slightly and I chance releasing his arms to smooth the frown off his forehead. He releases a shuddering breath coughs slightly in his sleep, but gradually the tightness leaves his limbs and his breathing eases slightly. I'm relieved the moment it does, but I don't dare move away again. My own racing heart takes hours to settle as I slowly convince myself that he's not dying. Still I don't move as the sun sinks lower in the sky and the light starts to vanish. It's only a few minutes before the anthem when I slowly ease myself away from Cato. His sleep has been more restful the last hour and unless I want to spend the night next to him - which I _honestly_ don't - then I need to climb back up to my sleeping branch.

The anthem comes and the faces of Glimmer and Marina flash in the sky, and night falls. I bow my head out of respect, but stay quiet. I didn't know these girls. It would be wrong for me to pretend like I did.

I zip Cato's jacket up to my chin and pull the hood over my head and get comfortable, trying to fall asleep. I'm entirely convinced that it's the coldest night yet, but I stubbornly sit, shivering on my tree branch, scowling darkly and occasionally cursing Seneca Crane in a low voice. I judge it to be nearly midnight when an icy cold wind starts blowing and I finally give in. I'm shaking so hard that I have trouble climbing down the tree, but I release a string of curses and insults under my breath as I stumble my way towards Cato. With frozen, fumbling fingers I undo the zip on the sleeping bag and clamber in. I keep my back firmly to Cato's bare and muscular, but warm chest and with a bit of struggle manage to zip myself in.

"Don't think I don't know this is exactly what you wanted Gamemakers," I mutter, even as my shivering subsides and warmth begins to seep back into my frozen limbs. I have just started to relax, my eye-lids drooping when Cato suddenly goes rigid behind me. His breathing picks up and he whimpers quietly, his mouth right next to my ear. When he starts trembling, I sigh and wriggle until I'm facing him and make shushing noises. My voice is soft and warm, the voice I used to use when Laurel would start crying in her sleep, trapped in a nightmare.

I try to keep some space between us as I murmur quiet comforts, squeezing his hand, but Cato reaches out blindly and encircles his arms around my waist. I freeze in his arms, tense, waiting for a flashback to start or panic to kick in. Instead a warmth seems to spread from my stomach, chasing away the last of my shivers and slowly, _slowly_ I relax into him. It's not until I rest my head on his chest however that he stops his quiet murmurs and whines. The moment I press my cold face into his warm neck, all the tension disappears from his body and his arms relax around me. This makes me tense again as I debate trying to move, but the wind is still blowing strongly and the sound of Cato's steady heart beat is comforting… relaxing… my eye-lids droop and I fall asleep.

 **...**

 **Well... what does everyone make of that? Are you surprised? Annoyed? ...Pleased? I would love to know what you think of Rose's choices!**

 **Also just want to make it clear that while I find Katniss aggravating at times I do love her! I believe my portrayal of her in this chapter is fairly honest based on her delirium and single-minded determination to get the bow. No disrespect intended towards Suzanne Collins' bad-ass heroine!**

 **-xx**


	17. Chapter 17

*** Chapter Seventeen ***

I know that something is different the moment I wake up, but I don't realise what it is until I feel a hand stroke my hair. My eyes fly open and I try to wrench away, but I can't: I'm trapped. Before I can start hyperventilating and squirming desperately to get away, a hoarse voice murmurs into my ear, "Rosilda! It's okay!"

I freeze as a hand gently lifts my chin, but it's not until I meet blue eyes that recollection comes flooding back. I slump against him in relief, relaxing back into his embrace. It's just Cato. He's not going to hurt me. For a moment I feel remarkably safe and content, happy even. Then my brain actually wakes up and I freak out all over again. _No! No! No! Cato is not safe! He's not okay! Bad Rose! Bad!_

I tense, "You're awake," my voice is quiet, but hard and I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes again. I can see now that he's still weak, his skin is still pale and his eyes aren't there usual clear, piercing selves.

He makes a small noise of agreement, and his eyes drift close, "Feel like shit though."

I study him for a moment before deciding it's unlikely he'll be awake for much longer. I fumble for the zipper and ignore him as he weakly tries to stop me from leaving the sleeping bag, "You need to drink," I tell him, offering him the half-full water bottle.

It takes a bit of convincing, but finally I manage to make him drink what's left in there. He's very weak and I have to help him sit up and help him lift the bottle to his mouth. When I get him lying back down and go to stand up and move away, he reaches out and grabs my hand. His eyes are hooded and glassy, but pleading, so I give his hand a squeeze and stay there, tense, alert and uncomfortable. This Cato is not the one I'm used to. He's weak, helpless and dependent on me. He's like a little kid really and whether it's the big sister in me or maternal instincts I didn't know I had, or maybe just the confused mess of feelings I have regarding the boy from Two, I can't bring myself to walk away when he looks at me like that.

"Rosilda?" he murmurs, his voice slurring with fatigue.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here."

I freeze and stare down at him, but he's lost again. And when I release his hand and tuck it into the sleeping bag, he doesn't stir at all. I lay my hand on his forehead, but it feels normal to me, he's no longer running a massive fever. _Clearly_ he's still delirious however… I huff a long sigh and close my eyes, rubbing my temples.

"Should've killed him on day one," I mutter to myself as I go to fill up my drink bottle, "Should have told Johanna to fuck off. Should have listened to Linden. Should have kept my mouth shut. Should have asked to wear an awful, shapeless tree costume. Should have pulled a Johanna Mason, not listened to her _fucking terrible_ advice. "

I go to the river to fill my water bottle and treat it, before eating the last of my crackers and a piece of dried meat for breakfast. I then scale a tree as high as I dare to go and look out over the arena. The cornucopia is probably about three hours walk away, but it's a walk that I intend to make. I have to know what's going on with the other tributes. Marvel will be badly stung and probably still unconscious, but I would imagine that Clove is awake. She's small, fast and got away from the tree quickly. If I discover she avoided being stung at all I won't be too shocked. Peeta at least is very badly injured and probably holed up somewhere not too far away. I'd say that the girl from Twelve is likely still unconscious from her tracker jacker stings too… I frown as I think about it. I cut her. If she passed out before stopping the blood she's likely in a bad way too. Then there's Brinna, Thresh, the boy from Three and the boy from Ten, who weren't affected by the tracker jacker incident. Three of those people at least are probably closer to the cornucopia.

Before I set out though, there are a few things I have to take care. Something I need to do.

I change Cato's leaves, noticing the fact that the stings have deflated to small red bumps with a small, but visible hole from where the barb went in. No longer are they swollen, fluid-filled, angry purple and red lumps ranging in size from plum to orange. Almost all the venom and pus has been extracted and I wouldn't be surprised if he woke up properly sooner than I'd first expected. A combination of his huge size, much healthier weight, and my diligent care was obviously paying off.

I tuck my entire backpack into the hollow of the tree near the branch where I slept, taking only some essential supplies, the two knives I acquired from the Careers and a spear. I plan to travel quickly and it would be nice to have a break from carrying my heavy pack. I pause where I've hidden Cato and look down at him for a moment. I open my mouth, then shut it with a scowl and whirl away. It's not like he's going anywhere.

I walk for about twenty minutes, collecting what I need and carefully stowing them in the jacket pocket. As I walk I twist a length of wire and using the things I find on the forest floor, I start my creation. I know that I've found the perfect place for what I want to do when I see the huge, old tree in front of me. It's so tall and wide that no other trees have been able to spring up directly around it. Just enough sunlight filters through for scraggly grass and a few flowers to decorate the small clearing. I sit down with my back against the trunk of the tree and finish what I'm doing with the wire. Leaves and flowers are poked onto it and pressed together so that when I'm finished I'll have created a heart shaped wreath of green leaves, with a few blossoms decorating it. When I've finished bending the wire into shape, I carefully set it aside and draw my knife. My hands shake slightly as I turn to the tree and carefully begin to scrape at it with my knife. It takes me a long time, but I want this to be deep enough that it remains long after the Games are over. I want this to be perfect for my friend.

When I'm finished I rest my wreath at the bottom of the trunk and collect a few flowers to create a small bouquet to set there too. Stepping back I stop to take in what I've created. There's a lump in my throat, but my eyes are dry.

"He wanted a tree to be planted," I whisper, "Not a pine tree, not one that'll be cut down. A fruit tree. I don't know what sort, but he really liked the peaches in the Capitol. I think he'd… I think he'd like there to be a peach tree planted somewhere at home. Maybe by school or the river. Just not… not by the shop and not anywhere near The Centre. Somewhere… somewhere bright."

Away from the butchery where killing takes place and nowhere near the Justice building. Somewhere lively, happy but also peaceful. I take a deep breath and read the words I've carved. They don't seem to be enough. But then, how can mere words ever be good enough?

 _Linden Fawley - Never to be forgotten._

For a long moment I stand, staring at the words and silently promising them to myself that I'll never forget Linden, my district partner, my ally, my friend. Then, without another word, I turn and set off for the cornucopia. I jog at a steady pace, concentrating on moving quickly, but silently. It's probably around nine o'clock in the morning when I set off and after an hour of running, I stop for a drink of water and climb another tree to check I'm moving in the right direction. I'm very close to the cornucopia now and it's much easier to see detail. There's a dark haired figure moving about the camp, which I'm fairly sure is Clove, but could be the boy from Three. They're about the same size and both have dark hair, but the way this person walks betrays anger and confidence. They're stalking about the camp like an offended cat. _Yeah, that's got to be Clove._

I flit through the trees, sticking to the shadows and making sure my footsteps are silent. When I reach the tree line, I drop to my stomach and observe. Clove is pacing like one of the huge wildcats that mauled the girl from my district a few Hunger Games ago. The boy from Three is sitting in the shade of the awning they've rigged up, watching her warily. Marvel is nowhere to be seen. I return my attention to Clove. She looks irritated and tired, weariness clear in her stiff posture, even as the dark glower on her face doesn't quite cover up her true emotions. She's worried. Worried and _scared_. She has no idea where her district partner is, she knows he's alive and injured, but doesn't have the skills to track him. The Career pack has been halved and at the moment is incredibly vulnerable. Clove knows this and the stress is rolling off her in waves.

I slip back into the trees and begin walking silently around the perimeter of the meadow. My ears are pricked for any unnatural sounds and my eyes scan for anything that could help me find Brinna. I know that she'll be around her somewhere and that if I'm patient enough I'll find her eventually. Finally I hear a twig snap and dart behind a tree quickly. I run silently towards the sound on a round about angle and smile as I see a patch of flattened grass that hasn't quite sprung back. I catch sight of red hair and my smile widens, taking extra care to be completely silent, I melt out of the trees and fall into step beside her.

"Don't do that!" she hisses, clutching her chest and scowling at me, "I thought you were Two coming to kill me!"

"Hi Brinna," I say evenly, "It's good to see you."

Her red hair is tangled with leaves and she's pale faced, dirty and looks a lot more worse for wear than I imagine I do. She looks me over calculatingly, her eyes taking in the knives at my belt and the spear in my hand as well as the wound on my thigh, and cut on my forehead, before finally stopping on my neck.

"That's surprising."

I scowl and clap a hand to my neck, feeling my traitorous pale skin flush, "Are they still there?"

Brinna, lifts one eye-brow and reaches out to peel my hand away, "Guess he really can't decide whether to kill you or kiss you."

I glare at her, "It was all there before we got to the arena-"

"Oh yes," she nods with a knowing smirk, "I saw him follow you into the elevator. My district partner waited for it to come back down, but I used the stairs. It was ages before he got back. You terrified him you know, said there was lot of banging and yelling and then silence, then lots and lots of yelling-"

"Yeah," I cut in scowling at her, "I was there thanks."

"So where is he then?" she asks, "His partner clearly doesn't know, I thought if anyone else in the arena knew where he was, it would be you."

I shrug, "Do you know about the tracker jackers?"

She snickers and settles down on the ground, patting the dirt beside her invitingly. I sit down and raise my eyebrows at her, "With the amount of screeching Clove did, I'm surprised you didn't hear her! Twelve is going to get it for that. Two already hated them for showing them up in the parade, getting training scores worthy of Elites and taking all the attention of them in the interviews— though I suppose you were a little busy to notice that," she smirks side-long at me, then continues, "Now they managed to show them up again. Tracker Jackers are nasty, Two only got stung once and she was unconscious until this morning. She's out for blood."

"Yeah," I nod after a pause to register and then ignore half of her words, "I was there for that too. I suppose you weren't caught in the forest fire, were you?" Brinna shakes her head smugly and I grimace and continue, "I'd just gotten out of that when they saw me. I ran into Twelve and she very annoyingly followed me, guess she knew they'd pick her over me. We both ended up in the tree, but I'm a lead climber back home so I was up way higher than her. Don't tell Two but it was me who saw the nest and gave her the idea to drop it on them, I think Cato was the only one apart form Twelve who knew I was there."

"How did he know?" Brinna asks immediately, her eyes narrowing.

"Because he tried to climb the tree and I made the mistake of moving, so he saw me."

"But he didn't tell the others?"

I shrug as casually as I can and hurry on. I don't like this line of questioning, "Anyway, Glimmer from One got stung really badly and didn't get away at all, but all the others ran for the lake-"

"I saw them. Twelve dunked himself in the water, then charged right back in there. Cato ran after him and left Clove to stop One from drowning. He passed out in the lake. I was actually a little surprised she fished him out. He's a complete idiot and she knows it."

"Girls like Clove don't like boys like him," I mutter with a scowl, " Anyway, so Twelve climbs down the tree and takes off as well, which is when I decide it's probably safe and climb down too. I was just grabbing a few of the supplies they conveniently left for me," I indicate the knives, "When Twelve stumbles back in and goes straight for the bow and arrows. I tried to help her, because she looked like she was considering breaking One's fingers to get to it, but she freaked out and tried to kill me. She gave me that," I point to my forehead, "Before I got her in a head-lock, then Peeta comes out of nowhere and actually throws me into a tree. I reckon that is how he got his eight."

"Strength?"

I nod and continue, "Twelve ran off again with the bow and arrows, judging by how determined she was to get them I'm guessing that's how she got her eleven too. Then Cato showed up and stabbed Peeta pretty badly before passing out. Peeta stumbled off and so did I."

"You just left Two there!" Brinna explodes, exactly as I knew she would, I'm not sure what she would say if I told her the truth, "Rose, you had the opportunity to kill him! He's one of the biggest threats! Kill him and the odds are so much more in our favour! You know how you win these Games? You do whatever it takes! Especially when it concerns that monster! Or have you forgotten the way he treated you?" there's even more of a condescending air about her than normal and it reminds me of all the people back home who scoffed at the 'silly little girl' as if she didn't know exactly what had happened to her.

"He was unconscious and couldn't defend himself," I say stiffly fighting the tremor in my voice, "I refuse to ever take advantage of someone in that position. Not even for someone like him," I set my chin firmly against Brinna's curious stare before swiftly changing the subject, "That's not why I found you though, you've seen the Careers supplies?"

"Up real close," she smirks with a nod, though her eyes are sharp and she's still studying me intently.

"Even with the booby-trap you're managing to steal food?" I ask, rather impressed. She looks surprised that I've figured out the Careers safety mechanism and I feel a pang as I remember I wouldn't have figured it out without Linden, "See, you're not the only observant one," I tease her lightly.

"I memorised the path Three takes to get in," she states with neither modesty or arrogance, "I'm only surprised because I thought the reason you didn't want to be allies was because you wanted to be far away from the cornucopia and her occupants."

"Let's just say there's not much more of the arena in that direction," I say pointing towards the lake, "I got turned around by the afternoon of the first day. As for now, I'm here to see how the Careers are doing and because I need your brain."

Brinna tilts her head to the side, "What do you have to trade for it?"

I smirk at her, unmoved by this. I understand Brinna, she's smart, sly and calculating, there's no way she'd do something just for the sake of being nice, especially not in the middle of the Hunger Games, "Mutual benefit of better odds? A lesson on where to look for the edible food you took the time to memorise?"

Her eyes light up, "I accept, but you have to throw in some tips on moving quietly through the woods as well."

I lift my eye-brows, "It took me ages to find you, trust me, you're much more stealthy than anyone else in here. Even the girl from Twelve has this weird aura about her that makes it impossible to miss her. I don't think she likes hiding."

"There's always room for improvement," she says logically, "Nobody but you can sneak up on me, that's the second time you've managed it; if anyone can help me improve, it'd be you. Now what's the conundrum?"

"Well," I begin, choosing my words carefully, because I know she doesn't miss much, "The Careers always have the odds tipped in their favour. They get the best supplies, weapons and food, just because they come from a specific district—"

"Didn't Cato invite you to join the Elites? Twice in front of me and I'm willing to bet more times when he cornered you."

"I never wanted to be a part of the pack, surrounded by people who could and would kill you," I explain quietly, "There's no way I could be around them. I turned him and Glimmer down the first time because of that and the second time because…" she wrinkles her nose in disgust and I know she gets my meaning, so I carry on with my explanation, "Their alliance means they secure the cornucopia every year and the other tributes are forced to survive on what they can salvage. It's an advantage that's made them arrogant. It was like every time Cato got bored of slashing dummies into little pieces, he'd come and start an argument with me about how survival stations are a waste of time and that if I… gave in," I scowl darkly out at the trees and Brinna shifts uncomfortably beside me, "I wouldn't have to worry about that because sponsors look after the Careers and because of the supplies he was so sure he'd have access to. Take those supplies away and you have a bunch of people who can't feed themselves for long enough to survive. I want to even the odds, if we have to find our own food, then they do too."

"So you're here, asking me to come up with a way for me to blow up my main food source?" Brinna clarifies with strange amusement in her eyes, "That's presumptuous of you."

"Not really," I respond lightly, "You can take as much as you want before we blow it, it's not like they'll notice."

Brinna stares at me in silence and I can practically see her brain whirling as she considers my proposal, "I'll think about it," she finally says, "If we're both still alive in two days, meet me back here, alright?"

I frown slightly, but then nod my agreement. She continues to stare at me and I wait patiently, knowing she'll get up and leave when she decides our conversation is over, "You have a curious aptitude for pissing the Elites off. Blow up their food and I don't even want to think about what they'll do. Are you sure you want to go down that road? Something like that will probably help make Cato's mind up."

I set my jaw, "Someone should really have told him he can't always have what he wants."

"Believe me," Brinna says, her bright amber eyes flashing with mirth, "You're teaching him. I wonder if you're the first girl to tell him no. I wouldn't be surprised."

"What would you have said?" I ask, genuine curiosity creeping into my voice, "You say you're prepared to do whatever it takes. Would you have said yes?"

Brinna frowns, looking floored for a moment. I've actually made her think and it satisfies me to know that she isn't quite as confident and ruthless as she appears, "I would never get myself in a situation where someone like him would make me that offer," she finally states, "I'm not beautiful enough to catch his attention, and I don't have your sharp tongue or reckless urge to stand up for people who are too weak to stand up for themselves. You might have turned his head in the tribute parade, but he only really singled out out after you took the fall for the girl from Eleven."

"It was the boy from Nine Cato was yelling at, not Rue," I say with some amusement.

"In the elaborate scheme of 'who took the big, bad Career's knife' the boy from Nine neither touched it nor was your real motivation for taking the blame. I was watching. You were really angry and disgusted at what he was doing, but it was only when you noticed Eleven up in the roof holding it that you actually did something. I thought your district partner was going to have a cerebral haemorrhage when Two turned on you," the smirk fades from her face and she adds, "I liked him. He was brave, but not reckless like you. I'm sorry about his death."

I swallow thickly and nod my thanks, clearing my throat and saying, "I liked him too. I'm sorry about your district partner."

Brinna tenses slightly but when she speaks her voice is harsh, "He was stupid. Ran into the bloodbath even though we were told not to. He brought it upon himself."

"I saw it," I say softly, remembering Cato stabbing him through the throat, "It was fast. I doubt he was in much pain."

Brinna nods her head and slowly gets to her feet, "I suppose that's all we can hope for. For it to be fast, without much pain."

I nod silently and stand up too as she adds, "I'll see you in two days Seven."

"If you're still breathing Five," I respond calmly, with a small smirk, before turning away and slipping back into the trees without a backwards glance.

 **...**

I'm deep in thought as I make my way back towards my supplies and Cato. Brinna's words have planted a seed of doubt in my mind and reminded me of Linden's argument. Cato will be absolutely furious. He'll lose it if I blow the supplies. As Brinna mockingly alluded to, he'd definitely kill me sooner than kiss me. _You don't want him to kiss you Rose. Just because you can't kill him doesn't mean he can't kill you._

"Only one person can win," I murmur to myself, "If you want it to be you, you're going to have to be prepared to do something!"

I shake my head and clear my thoughts. I don't have to think about blowing the supplies agin for two days. I should be concentrating on staying alive until then and with my food supplies so depleted, it could be a struggle. I chance upon some wild asparagus as I make my way back and pick it with a little bit of reluctance. I'm not a fan of the stuff, but it's food and beggars can't be choosers. I'm a little more happy when I find a chicory plant and gleefully dig up the entire thing, knowing that not only is the entire plant edible, but that the roots are delicious when cooked. I take a break after an hour and a half of walking and sit down on the ground to see if I can catch myself a squirrel or rabbit. Cato is going to wake up soon and I wouldn't be surprised to learn he could eat all the food I have and not be full being the size he is. After forty-five minutes of sitting completely and utterly still, I start to think about giving up. My legs are horribly cramped and I'm really thirsty. Just as I'm about to give in and reach for my drink bottle I see a blur of movement from the corner of my eye and in one fluid and fast movement, throw my knife. I curse as it catches the squirrel right through it's body and grimace. Most of the meat will be spoilt, it's almost not worth going through the hassle of cleaning it, building a fire and cooking it. I'm just about to get to my feet and collect my knife when the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

I slowly swap my spear to my dominant left hand and clutch my second knife with my right one. I listen intently, obeying the instincts that are telling me not to move. All I can hear is silence for a long moment, then there's a sound that chills my blood. A quiet, rumbling growl that definitely did not come from a human. My breath catches in my throat and I know I have to move. I'm sitting on the ground with my back to the threat - which by the sound of it, is some sort of wild dog - I'm a target.

Very, very slowly I rise to my feet, my muscles straining to lift me smoothly off the ground. The growling increases in volume and I sense, rather than hear the animal move closer. I squeeze my eyes shut and slowly heft my spear, muscles tense and ears pricked. If I turn around, I'm likely to startle it and be dead in moments. My only hope is that I'll hear it pounce and be able to fling myself aside and turn and throw before it can lunge for me again. My heart pounds and my ears strain. For several long moments nothing happens, then suddenly my instincts scream and I dive aside a split second before the animal leaps with a loud barking growl. I feel hot breath on my face and sharp claws catch my shoulder, but before I even register the pain I have turned, brought my arm up and released my spear at the black _thing_. It catches it right through the side of the neck, but the thing barely notices.

It's huge; bigger than any dog I've ever seen, with grimy black and tan fur, large ears and a short, beastly muzzle. Snarling lips reveal sharp yellow teeth and I swear it's feral eyes are red. It growls loudly and leaps at me again, barking ferociously and snapping at my face. My brain stops working as I am seized with paralysing terror and a scream escapes my lips as my hands fly up to protect my face. The snarling thing barrels into me, knocking me forcefully to the ground. With a shriek I stab my last weapon blindly at it, turning my face away and preparing for agonising pain and a vicious death. The snarling growls fall silent, and a small, pained whine makes my ears prick up as the heavy weight on my chest suddenly goes still.

I heave the hot, heavy body off me and scramble along the ground away. I takes a few moments for the panic encompassing my mind to lessen enough for me to realise the dog is dead. I killed it. My breath is coming in shaking, shuddering gasps as I try to process what's happened. Somehow, miraculously… I am alive. I let out a long breath of air and hang my head back to look up at the familiar sight of leaves overhead, drawing both comfort and strength from it, before shakily getting to my feet and going to remove my spear and knife from the body. I prod it gingerly with my foot before bending down and when it doesn't move or make a sound, I yank on my spear and then feel around for my knife. It's only when I feel the blood matting the dog's coarse fur that I realise I'm soaked in the substance. The knife comes loose with a sickening squelch and hot blood floods freely over my hand. I swallow thickly and examine the dog, wondering if the meat is edible. The thought makes my stomach twist with revulsion and I turn and throw up the little food remaining in my stomach.

"Not that desperate," I mutter to myself as I stagger back to my feet and wipe a hand over my mouth. Not yet.

I collect my foraged plants and second knife before leaving without a backwards glance. I stumble towards my supplies in a bit of a daze. Now that the adrenaline is fading, the pain is setting in. While most of the blood on me is not mine, the burning pain on the back of my right shoulder and across my stomach indicates that a significant portion probably is. I don't stop to check either injury, there's no point when all my first aid supplies are at least half an hour's walk away. I grit my teeth and move quickly, holding my right hand, which clutches the plants, over my stomach and gingerly gripping the blood caked spear with my left.

I blame the blood-loss, lingering mind-numbing terror and just plain relief at making it back to my little clearing that I fail to realise something is very wrong with the picture I stumble towards. I don't notice the empty sleeping bag at all until a branch cracks right behind me and I find myself slammed against the trunk of the closest tree. I choke down a gasp of pain and force my eyes to meet his narrowed eyes evenly, "District Two."

 **...**

 **I think this is the first kind of cliff-hanger this story has had! What do you guys think about Brinna? Am I staying true to Foxface's character? Do you think Rose is as set on blowing up the Career's supplies as she seems? And of course... what's going to happen now that Cato is awake?**

 **I would LOVE to hear what you think! Thank you so much to everyone supporting this story and a special shout out to anyone who took the time to review, I really, really appreciate it!**

 **\- xx**


	18. Chapter 18

**Happy (very belated) Birthday to Rhiannon Adams! Thank you so much for your enthusiasm and support, I hope you had a truly special day and I'm sorry this is a week late!**

 **...**

 *** Chapter Eighteen ***

 _I blame it on the blood-loss, lingering mind-numbing terror and just plain relief at making it back to my little clearing that I fail to realise something is very wrong until a branch cracks right behind me and I find myself slammed against the trunk of the closest tree. I choke down a gasp of pain and force my eyes to meet his evenly, "District Two."_

Cato is very much awake and clearly completely recovered from the tracker jacker venom because his eyes are their usual icy, piercing selves, his hair is wet - as if he's been for a swim in the river - and he's put his t-shirt back on. Now I notice this, it becomes increasingly harder to ignore the fact the wet fabric is clinging to him in very attractive places... _Great last thoughts Rose, check out your murderer why don't you?_

Cato growls, his expression angry as he registers my words and presses against me harder, "Do we have to go over this again Rosilda?"

"Trust me," I hiss in response, "I'm feeling the déjà vu."

A cocky smirk crosses his face, reminding me of just how unpredictable his mood can be, "As if you'll ever be able to forget."

I grunt and shove him off me, "The nauseating disgust is fresh in my mind," I snarl, crossing my arms protectively over my chest and using the tree to help me stand as another wave of dizziness makes my vision swim.

His eyes flash challengingly, "Because clutching my shirt, gasping for air and moaning my name are clear signs of disgust."

"You were strangling me," I spit at him, even as I feel my cheeks heat up, "Of course I was gasping for air and trying to grab at you! If you didn't figure out that you disgust me from me shoving you off, screaming at you and adorning you cheek with a lovely handprint, you're a bigger idiot that I thought, Two!"

His face contorts with anger and his hands clench into fists, "If I disgust you so much Seven, why am I still alive?"

I freeze for a moment, before wiping my face blank and cooly saying, "Perhaps because I'm not a cold-blooded, merciless killer? Unlike you, I actually have morals!"

"Yeah, that's exactly what dumping a fucking tracker jacker nest on innocent people proves!" he snarls, "Get off your high-horse _Princess_! Nobody good has a chance at winning these Games! You killed Four in the blood-bath and there's no way Twelve dumped that nest on us without you giving her the idea! You've got as much blood on your hands as I do Rosilda! At least I didn't abandon my district partner the minute things got difficult—"

I drop my spear and pull back my fist to slam it into his face with an angry roar. Cato's hand snaps out and stops my punch inches from his head, using my momentum to pull me tight against him. I curse and fight to get free, but he's just too strong and I find myself slammed against the tree trunk once more.

"I hate you," I snarl at him, then spit in his face.

Cato's lips pull back in a sneer and his eyes flash darkly, but he otherwise doesn't react in the way I expect, "If you're trying to antagonise me into killing you, you're going to have to do better," he informs me cooly.

I stare at him in disbelief for a moment, then sneer back, "As vile as your presence is Cato, I'm not letting you have the satisfaction! If I die in here, it sure won't be because of _you_!"

I'm entirely surprised when a grin crosses his face and his grip loosens, "I liked the way you said it before better."

I frown in confusion, but then the ball drops and the fight goes out of me. _I called him Cato_. My shoulders sag and I curse myself mentally, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. He's motionless, but I know that the grin hasn't left his face, the smugness is practically rolling off him. I tense when he moves his hands slowly up my arm from my bicep where they were previously cutting in. His touch is gentle and warm, lighting my skin on fire and sending a shiver down my spine. It's not until his hands reach my shoulder however that I pull away, a small pained noise escaping my mouth as his fingers brush my wound. Immediately he tenses, his grip tightening.

"You're hurt," there's an accusing bite in his words, that sends anger flooding through me, "Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you were so worried about me being hurt when you gave me _these_!" I tilt my head back and jab my finger at the bruises I know still ring my neck, "or those!" I gesture to the purple and blue ones on my arms, "or this!" I lift my t-shirt and flash him the yellow and green bruise on my hip-bone. Unfortunately this only draws both of our attention to my stomach.

"Holy shit Rosilda!"

I stare in confusion at the three angry claw marks across my lower stomach. Blood had crusted over them, but by violently wrenching my shirt up I've made them bleed again. The gashes alone are bad, but the skin around them is angry and inflamed too. _Infection_. The word leaps unbidden to mind and I pale as I remember how mangy the dog was. What if it had _rabies_? Horror mixes with dawning pain and I'm completely deaf to Cato's angry ranting until he grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me. A cry of pain escapes my mouth and I have to clutch at him as the world suddenly tilts alarmingly. Now that I'm focused on the pain, it's terrible. Burning agony. And he keeps trying to grab my shoulder!

"Shoulder," I hiss through gritted teeth, "Please stop touching."

He leans close to me and peers over my shoulder to look at the wound there. It does nothing for my raising heart rate and by the time he's pulled back I'm gasping for air. Cato snaps something at me and I find myself being forced to the ground. I don't protest, my knees are weak anyway and I feel dizzy. Maybe I lost more blood than I thought.

"Goddamnit!" Cato yells in my face, drawing my attention, "Tell me where your supplies are Rosilda! I can't help you with nothing!"

"Tree," I mutter woozily pointing up at my branch where my pack is visibly sitting, "Why… why do you…"

I'm trying to ask him why he cares, but it's becoming harder to think and I can't get the words out. Cato swears violently and tears off his t-shirt, pressing it to my stomach and placing my hand over it to hold it in place,

"Don't you dare close your eyes," he hisses furiously at me, before disappearing.

My eyes narrow and panic clutches at me. He's left me! Then my brain registers the unmistakable sound of someone clambering up a tree. I blink woozily and press hard on the t-shirt, focusing on the noise to try and distract myself from the pain and to help me cling to consciousness. A few blinks later Cato reappears, and crouches down beside me. I'm vaguely aware of him talking to me, squeezing my hand and muttering angrily to himself as he moves quickly around me. It's only when his hands begin to tug on my t-shirt however that I draw enough energy to start freaking out.

"No!" I shriek, shoving on the large, strong person trying to remove my clothes, as the terrifying and horrifically familiar darkness tugs at my consciousness, "No! Don't touch me! _Please_!" The last word comes out as a choked sob as I weakly push on the big person's hard stomach, "Please! Please, please, no!"

"I have to Rosilda!" he yells at me, though he removes his hands from my torso and seizes my face between them instead. He holds my head in place and stares me right in the eye. Icy blue, I dizzily register. _Cato_. Cato. Not Wren.

"Cato," I murmur to reassure myself, seeing the blue eyes light up in recognition and happiness, that soothes me, "Cato. Not…not Wren."

"That's right," he agrees firmly and I feel pleased, I like the fact that I can make his voice soften in relief, "It's me and I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to help you, okay Rosilda?"

"Promise?" I whisper childishly, though the warmth blossoming in my chest makes me want to believe him, "Promise you won't hurt me?"

"I promise."

Secure in the knowledge that I'm safe, that I'm not going to be taken advantage of for my weakness, I let my eyes flutter shut and my arms complacently fall away from him. The ultimate act of trust. Something feather soft brushes against my forehead making warmth shoot through my body and a low, calming voice from far away protectively whispers, "I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

A soft, trusting smile spreads across my face and I relax fully, giving in to the darkness. It no longer seems horrifyingly scary or feels awfully like drowning or suffocating. Instead it feels warm and comforting. Like I'm sinking into my bed back home, Laurel lying next to me, safe and secure after a long day in the forest...

 **...**

The relaxed feeling of trust and safety carries over to when I wake and I don't open my eyes for a moment, snuggling closer to the warmth behind me, revelling in the strong, protective arms around my small body. The dawning remembrance of where I am and what happened chases away this feeling within moments and I stiffen. My breath catches harshly in my throat and I struggle to escape the sleeping bag and the tightening arms around me. Pain shoots through my body and a whimper escapes my mouth. Cato grumbles slightly in his sleep and tightens his hold, drawing me back to him and releasing a little puff of air onto my exposed throat before nuzzling into my hair and going still once more. I swallow and crane my neck to look around. The sky is dark and it's very cold. The middle of the night. My shoulder aches slightly and my stomach throbs, but it's not the burning agony I fell unconscious to and my head feels much clearer. I can't free my arms from Cato's embrace to lower to my stomach, but I do manage to get a finger up to my shoulder. A soft dressing covers my entire shoulder blade and Cato's arm carefully encircles just below it, forming a protective barrier between my wound and the rest of the world.

Exhaustion begins to weigh me down again as my initial panic fades and I lift my hand to lace my fingers with Cato's that rests over my ribcage. I'm sure I'll regret my decision in the morning, but as sleep takes hold of me once more, I press myself even closer to the warm, reassuring body behind me and close my eyes, a sleepy smile crossing my face.

 **...**

I wake up as soon as Cato begins to move, blinking blearily at the lightening clearing as the boy behind me swears quietly as he fumbles with the zipper of the sleeping bag. It takes a few moments for me to clear the sleepy befuddlement from my thoughts enough to move and place my hand over his. The zip goes right across my body and once I get my arm out of the sleeping bag, it's relatively easy for me to unzip it. I feel Cato tense behind me, but don't acknowledge it. Yawning and stretching as I move away from him. The first thing I do upon sitting up is look down at my stomach. I blink for a moment at my bare skin uncomprehendingly, then snatch at the sleeping bag, drawing it all the way up to my chin and blushing bright red as I register all of Panem - including Cato - has seen me in only a bra.

"I'm sorry."

I avoid his eye, but register the slightly awkward and defensive hunch to his shoulders,

"No," I manage to force out, "You had to if you were going to be able to get to my shoulder. I remember you," I swallow tightly, "er… I remember you taking it off."

I want to bury my face in my hands as I recall my weakness and the fact I verbally had to confirm it was Cato, not Wren removing my shirt. That's more times in the last week than in the last year. The Games definitely have a way of bringing back all the worst memories. I suppose that's how they manage to bring out the worst in tributes too. I know I owe Cato some form of gratitude or apology, but I'm mortified by the entire ordeal so it takes several long moments for me to gather myself enough to force out anything resembling words.

"I apologise for making the task harder than it should have been," I say stiffly, still avoiding looking at him.

There's a slight pause in which Cato shifts slightly, before gruffly murmuring, "You were fine."

I nod woodenly and take a deep breath before forcing my arms to lower, exposing the standard-issue sports bra and my stomach. There's a small spot of discolouration on the dressing that covers my wounds, but I was expecting blood stains, so I'm surprised. I twist experimentally and feel a shooting pain at the movement, it's bearable however and the only explanation I can come up with is that I've been sent a parachute with Capitol medicine. I turn my head and examine my shoulder next, the dull twinge I get when I rotate my arm makes me smile slightly. It's barely noticeable. I can feel Cato's gaze burning into me the entire time though he neither moves or speaks and I don't acknowledge his presence until I have finished a full body check. The burn on my arm is barely visible, the bruise on my hip is fading and the ones on my arms look better too. Less dark and angry, beginning to lighten away from black, blue and purple towards green and yellow. I poke one experimentally, then bend my knee up to examine the burn on my thigh. The broken skin has healed over, though it's still red and shiny and there's still a bit of heat in it when I focus on it. Overall however, my body is in much better condition than I expected, it seems a long sleep aided the healing process. I feel more awake and alert than I have in days and when my hand lifts to my neck to poke experimentally there and try and deduce if the marks are finally beginning to fade I start to hum slightly. I finish my poking and prodding of my neck and lift my hands to fix my hair. The long ponytail my hair was tied in has loosened and the shorter bits of hair around my face have come loose. I slip the hair-tie over my wrist and shake my long hair out, combing through it with my fingers. When I'm satisfied most of the knots have been taken care of and it's just the odd dried blood matting it I scoop it all up and go to tie it back when I become aware that Cato is still staring at me with burning intensity. I stop humming and sigh, letting my hair fall back down.

"You're making me uncomfortable," I inform him bluntly, staring stoically straight ahead.

He doesn't look away and my arms unconsciously cross over my chest as I hunch my shoulders, letting my hair fall forward and obscure my face behind a dark curtain, hiding me from his piercing gaze.

"You make me almost constantly uncomfortable," I tense at his voice and when he doesn't say anything else slowly turn to look at him. He's gazing at me with an undecipherable expression on his face.

"W-what do you mean?" I ask unintelligently, my voice trembling slightly as I struggle to hold his gaze.

His brow furrows slightly, but in confusion more than anger I think, "You… don't you know?"

I just frown and tilt my head to the side. I didn't think Cato was capable of feeling uncomfortable, he was always flawlessly composed, masking his emotions with an arrogant smirk and radiating cool confidence, furiously angry and releasing waves of aggression or impassive save for burning eyes and a growl in his throat. Granted, that last one only ever seems to make an appearance around me.

"I wasn't aware I had any effect on you besides the obvious anger and bloodlust," I finally mutter when he doesn't speak. I hope I'm the only one to notice the slight bitterness to my words as I scold myself for hoping he'll say he patched me up for more reason than thinking he owed it to me after I saved him from the tracker jackers.

Cato's face twists with incredulity, "You really have no idea what you do to me?" he demands with slight anger, "It isn't an angle you're working?"

I frown and shake my head slowly, "The only angle I had was trying to be alluring and mysterious during the interviews and staying away from the weapons during training. No angles to do with you… except not joining the Careers when you offered," I shift slightly uncomfortably and add with a small blush, "My mentor did want me to um… she made my training clothes tighter after she heard about the… um, knife incident," I offer truthfully and try not to wring my hands anxiously, "and she told me to ignore you and talk to other tributes," my frown deepens and I add, "she wasn't very impressed when the only people I spoke to were the girls from Eleven and Five. She kept saying that I should go for a more… flirty approach, but I didn't want to and I thought she was being stupid to think it'd do anything besides make me look like an idiot. I was worried the Capitol might be angry with me for hitting you too, so I tried to ignore you during training," I glance at him sheepishly, "didn't go too well."

"You didn't hit me again, at least not during training," he offers with a small shrug and makes a 'carry on' sort of gesture.

"I didn't plan to run into you after our private trainings, or to throw a shoe at your escort, I just had to get away from it all for a while. Didn't mean to say any of the stuff I said at the interviews either," I say, wracking my brains for anything else, "I was angry. Scratch that," I glare at him for a moment, "I was furious with you. You followed me into the elevator and didn't exactly give me a choice," I scowl down at my hands, "I really didn't plan for that to happen," a sudden thought hits me and I snap my head up to stare accusingly at him, "Did you? Did you plan that?" my voice rises slightly with anger.

"No!" he snaps at once, "Of course I didn't! It was all your fault!"

"My fault?" I demand incredulously, "How the hell was anything that happened in there my fault? You followed me! You tried to strangle me! You yelled at me! And you kissed me! I didn't do anything!"

"Yes you did!" he booms, glaring at me, "All you had to do was look scared! All you had to do was call me by my name instead of District Two! Instead of backing down you made fun of me! I could have killed you in a second and you stood there all defiant and fucking gorgeous! Instead of apologising or _begging_ for me to let you go, you just kept pushing!" he slams his fist against the ground, making me flinch slightly, though I can't take my eyes off him, "I never meant to hurt you!" he snarls, "You were supposed to give up! Do you know how guilty I felt when I saw those bruises on your skin and realised _I_ was the monster that put them there?" he shouts at me, "You got in my head, I kept pushing, but you just kept pushing back! And then, by the time you finally did react I couldn't think! Why _the fuck_ did you kiss me back?"

I blink at him, fury rising in me as I try to come up with a response, "You threatened to kill me!" I finally spit, "You could have done it there and then! Of course I kissed you back, if I hadn't you'd have snapped my neck and—"

"Bullshit!" he snarls, reaching over and grabbing my wrist, tugging me close to him, "After your speech about not compromising your dignity? When you slapped me and screamed bloody murder at me for offering you protection-"

"For mistaking me for some cheap whore!" I scream at him, trying to tug free of his grasp, "I can protect myself! I'd rather die than turn into a prostitute that bargains her damn life!"

"I was stupid!" he shouts back at me, tightening his grip, "I was angry that you wouldn't join the Alliance! Acting like you were somehow better than us! I couldn't think straight with you so fucking close to me and I was trying to stay in control of what was happening-"

"Control!" I jeer, "That's all it is to you, right? You have to be able to control everything! Well guess what Two! I'm not a thing for you to own and mess around with! I'm a person! I don't belong to you! I'm not yours! And you don't fucking control me!"

Cato glares at me in silence for a moment, still holding me tightly. When he speaks, his voice is sharp and tense with suppressed anger and his eyes burn into me, "I know you're a person Rosilda. You've made it extremely clear that I have no control over anything that involves you," he pauses and adds in a cold voice, "You make absolutely no sense, I have no idea what you're thinking, what you're doing, or how you're going to react. You confuse me Rosilda, you're unpredictable—"

"I'm unpredictable?" I seethe, "Your mood swings are worse than my pregnant sister-in-law's! One minute you look like you're trying to glare me to death, then you're lifting me into my carriage! You threaten me and an hour later you're asking me to join the Careers! You spent hours teaching me how to throw a spear, told me about the roof of the Training Centre and then you go back to being a complete arsehole, by telling me the only way I'll win is by laying on my back and spreading my fucking legs! One minute you're trying to strangle me, the next you're kissing me! You swear you'll kill me in the Bloodbath then you stop Three from jumping me, watch me leave and don't tell any of the other Careers you did! You kill the boy from Four! Say that you're just trying to get into my head because I'm a threat and that you'll kill me and instead you stop me from bleeding out and promise not to hurt me! Then you have the nerve to say that I'm confusing? That I don't make sense?"

"You don't!" he roars, eyes flashing with ice, "Sticking up for some random weakling you've never spoken to! Hitting me and yelling at me! Humiliating and degrading everything I stand for at the interviews! Acting so passionate and refusing to be afraid of me! Then kissing me back and … being so bloody distracting! Then you hit me again and the next time I see you, you're telling me to run just before the tracker jacker nest falls! You distract Twelve and give me the opportunity to kill him and I fucking mess it up! Then I wake up, alive and healed in a completely different part of the arena, all alone and wait around for hours before you come wandering in covered in blood and hurt. Even then it's not until you nearly pass out that you show any sign of fear! You act like you hate me, then you let me kiss you, then you save my life more than once and still act like you hate me! What is _wrong_ with you?"

I blink several times, then inexplicably a smile is spreading across my face and laughter is bubbling in my throat, "We're not very good at communicating, are we?" I snicker.

He growls at me, but it's a playful sort of growl and I continue to laugh before smirking at him, "So I'm fucking gorgeous and bloody distracting?"

I watch in wonder as a blush rises on the deadly, aggressive and arrogant Career's cheeks and he stutters incomprehensibly, finally releasing my hands and staring at me wide eyed. I can't help but snicker as he flounders for words, but soften when he finally clamps his mouth shut and nods once, face flaming and frustration clear in his eyes.

"I could say that you're pretty bloody distracting too," I state, glancing down at my hands, "But I won't because you're also an arrogant bastard that does not need the any sort of ego-boost."

"If I'm such an arrogant bastard," he begins, the smirk clear in his voice as he shuffles closer to me, "Why'd you save me?"

"Why'd you save me?" I shoot back with a smirk of my own.

"It was the least I could do," he mumbles rather unconvincingly and I decide I like this bumbling, awkward teenage boy, then the cocky smirk returns and he says, "You saw me without my shirt on, seemed only fair that you repaid the favour."

"Because swollen purple lumps leaking pus and poison are so attractive," I drawl sarcastically, "my frail heart could hardly stand the sight."

"Damn right," he smirks at me, "Seeing as I got to deal with bloody gashes, your terrifying mentor and a rabies vaccine."

"So you did get a parachute from Johanna," I say, lifting an eyebrow, "She must be in a good mood if she can terrify you with only a few words. She's smaller than I am!"

"She's Johanna Mason," Cato replies as if this makes it all obvious.

"You probably triple her weight," I inform him, "I'm not even scared of her and I saw her before she'd had her coffee every morning for a week! I was also the target of her anger several times… her bark is worse than her bite."

"Maybe you shouldn't say that so loud," Cato mumbles with an anxious glance up at the sky, "She could poison you or send some sort of mutt to kill you-"

"Perhaps an elephant named Dumbo," I suggest solemnly, remembering the conversation we had before the interviews with a sly smirk up at the clouds, "Do it Johanna! You've always wanted to!"

"They have named elephants on the menu of things to send the tributes?" Cato mutters in disbelief, "There hasn't been an elephant in the Games for decades."

"They're not named," I snicker, "Johanna named it herself, said she's always wanted an excuse to send it into the arena. She wants to know how they could possibly parachute one in."

Cato frowns and I can't help but laugh at his confused expression, remembering my own confounded amusement as I tired to figure it out. He screws his face up for a few moments, then grunts ineloquently and shrugs, dismissing it. We're silent for a long moment then Cato clears his throat, "I, er, meant to ask. Who's left?"

All allusions of merriment and amusement vanish and I wipe my face clean of all emotion, "Marvel from One, you and Clove from Two, Bomb-Boy from Three, Brinna from Five, me from Seven, the crippled boy from Ten, Thresh from Eleven and the flaming lovers from Twelve."

"Ten," Cato murmurs, "So only Glimmer and Marina died while I was out? Thought Lover-Boy would be gone for sure."

I can't help that my mood uplifts slightly as Cato reveals that despite his actions, he does know the names of his former allies and chooses to use them in death. If he didn't, then it would be proof that he is a cold, ruthless killer with no regard or respect to anyone but himself.

"Both of them have knife wounds," I state detachedly, "And the girl was badly stung too. Peeta's leg will probably be infected unless he got medicine and I think she'll still be unconscious. Marvel is. Or he was yesterday."

Cato's eyes narrow, "You went to the cornucopia," he says slowly, then abruptly his face goes completely blank, "You've been spying on us! How else would you know that I finished off Bien and told Clove I was only trying to get in your head!"

I freeze and wince at his cold tone, but that's nothing compared to his expression when Cato suddenly remembers something else I let slip in my eager to please, careless idiocy. The teenage boy is gone, replaced with a dangerous and ruthless murderer who has suddenly remembered that I am his prey.

"You called Three, Bomb-Boy."


	19. Chapter 19

*** Chapter Nineteen ***

 _"You called Three, Bomb-Boy."_

 _..._

His voice is cold, his eyes don't burn. There's nothing on his face but cool fury. Nothing in his gaze but deadly realisation. He's just identified me as his enemy. I should back-pedal, apologise, promise not to say or do anything. I should try to snap him out of his Career mindset. I should reach for my knife. I should run. I should do anything but what I do.

I turn my head and meet his glare proudly, "I did," I confirm, "I know you've re-wired the mines to protect your supplies. Bit risky if you ask me."

I didn't mean for the last bit to come out, but it might have saved my life, because Cato's brows furrow and he hones in on the statement, "Nobody asked you."

I shrug casually as if it doesn't matter much to me.

"Why is it risky?"

I shrug again and keep my mouth shut, but this only makes his face harden, "Tell me Seven," it's the same cold, empty voice he used to speak to Bomb-Boy and Peeta on the first day, the voice he'd never used on me before, the voice that turns my blood cold with genuine fear.

"What if a bomb goes off?" I question, forcing my voice to stay relaxed and neutral, despite the fact there's a lump in my throat, dread coiling in my stomach and a curious ache in my chest.

Cato's eyes narrow.

"Won't all your supplies go up in smoke?" I question innocently.

"One bomb won't trigger the others," he says dismissively and I have to struggle to hide my disappointment as I press on.

"Of course Three would have told you that," I mutter, "If you weren't willing to try his idea, he'd be dead."

I know that I've just thrown rotten branch into mine and Brinna's plan to blow up their food, but I have also successfully diverted Cato's killer instincts off myself. He looks furious and I know it's because he hates the fact a small boy from Three has managed to trick the Careers,

"Where's my sword?" he asks, his voice low and steely.

I hesitate and make a show of shuffling in indecision to mask the fact I'm drawing my knife. I receive a chilling glare, and pretend to slump in defeat, "Up the tree," I mutter, pointing to my branch.

"This is what's going to happen, Seven," he begins in a quiet, deadly calm voice, "You're going to climb the tree and drop my sword and my knives down to me, then you're going to lead me back to the cornucopia. I'll let you leave as a show of good faith and the next time we see each other, it's like none of this ever happened. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I sneer back coldly, but don't move.

"That meant now Seven," Cato hisses and takes a menacing step towards me, "Climb the tree!"

I study him expressionlessly then bit back bitterly, "You forget, _Two_ , I'm not something for you to control!"

Fury flashes across his face and he makes a grab for me, but I'm ready and easily dance away and assume a ready position. I have a knife in each hand now and am poised on the balls of my feet, my eyes fixed on the angry Career. Shock and then betrayal crosses his face as he takes in the knives and my defensive stance.

"Guess you're more like me than you thought Seven," he growls, "You would have thrived in District Two!"

I narrow my eyes, "Training to be cold-hearted and merciless?" I snort, "It takes awful lot to bring that out in a person. I don't think I would have liked it. I'm not particularly fond of being purposefully brought to the brink, terrified out of your skin, made to feel weak and helpless, forced to endure pain that should break you apart… I imagine it was a way for them to cull the weak ones too, right? If you survive whatever they do to you, you're either sadistic or just really, really terrified of ever being at someone else's mercy."

My barbed words have turned Cato completely pale. He's staring at me like I'm a ghost and I know that I've hit the nail right on the head with my guesses at how they manufacture the trained killers District One, and especially Two, manage to produce.

"I guess you and I do have more in common that we thought," I say quietly, not bothering to hide the sadness or the weariness in my voice. The anger seems to have drained out of him so I put my knife away and offer him his hilt first. He stares at it like he's never seen it before, so I flick it into the ground about an inch from his foot with a huff and turn to climb up my tree. I pull Cato's sword and other knife out of the hollow in the tree and clamber down, holding them in one hand. The exercise makes my shoulder ache and a rumble in my stomach reminds me I haven't eaten since the previous morning. I ignore Cato, who is standing frozen exactly where I left him and go to rummage in my backpack. When I discover that all the dried meat is gone, that the nut and seed mix has been opened and half eaten and that all but one piece of chocolate has vanished, I throw a furious glare at him and stomp over to where my chicory plant is lying in a rather sorry state on the ground. The asparagus is nowhere to be seen but I'm more concerned about the fact Cato has eaten a large portion of my food and trampled all over my plant.

I pick it up off the ground and storm back over to him, "Thank you _so_ _much_ for eating my food and destroying my plant!" I snap in his face, shaking it at him angrily, "You've gone and walked all over it! _Look_! You've bruised the leaves, damaged the roots and squashed the flowers! This is one of the only goddamn wild plants that actually tastes nice! Next you'll be telling me dandelions are just a weed and using them as kindling! You _idiot_! That was my food! Not all of us have infinite amounts of it!" I say, jabbing my finger at his chest and ignoring the darkening of his eyes and dumbfound expression on his face, "If you were hungry you should have moaned about it until your mentors took pity on you and sent you something! Or better yet! You should have gotten off your bloody entitled arse and searched for food yourself! What gave you the right to eat mine, you lazy, ungrateful, selfish bastard! I have half a mind to—"

All of a sudden my angry tirade is cut off.

I am pushed gently, but firmly back against the trunk of the tree, my legs are swept out from under me and lips are forcefully connected to mine. The chicory plant falls from my hand without a second thought and I've thrown my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist before I really register what's happening.

My heart rate sky rockets, warmth builds in my stomach and electricity spreads from every place we touch. Which is practically everywhere. Cato is pressed flush against me, trapping me against the tree. Our chests press together, my feet lock around his waist, both my hands are tangled in his hair, tugging at it in a way that I think must be almost painful. One of Cato's hands is twisted in my hair at the nape of my neck and the other is trailing over my hip, arse and thigh, on the pretence of supporting me. Considering all his weight is pressed against me and my legs are clamped in a vice-like grip around his waist his hand does _not_ need to be there, but my lips are otherwise occupied and I don't complain.

As with our previous kiss, it's hot and hungry, desperate with an undertone of anger. I'm a much more willing participant this time, because I've decided that in any other situation I could quite possibly be extremely attracted towards Cato and possibly even be good friend's with him, if not more than just friends. Seeing as that is _entirely stupid, idiotic, ridiculous and inappropriate_ seeing as we're in the middle of the Hunger Games, I assume the stance of 'I'll be dead soon, why not enjoy myself while I still can!'

In all actuality, my brain is completely occupied with Cato. I'm not thinking about the cameras, or him wanting to kill me; not the Capitol and not the Games. All I can coherently think is that I can taste him. He really is overwhelming my senses, sending my heart into over-drive, making everything but him disappear from my brain. Our tongues battle it out for dominance, until finally I nip slightly at his lip, before letting him take charge. He moans into my throat, pressing against me harder and all of a sudden the kiss ups about two hundred percent in terms of passion. My toes curl and heat floods everywhere. My senses are on fire. I've never known it was possible to feel so many physical things all at once. I've kissed people before, but none of them have made me feel even close to what I'm feeling now.

All I know is that I want Cato to be closer than he already is.

I lower my hands back to his neck and pull on it, forcefully holding him as close to me as he can possibly be. Cato growls in response and slams me harder against the tree, his hands moving to my bare hips, crushing me to him even as I cling to him. It registers somewhere in my dazed brain that I still don't have a shirt on, but I can't really bring myself to care. Our teeth roughly collide as I try to get a better angle to kiss him on and in response he pulls at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and nibbling on it, making me moan his name.

Suddenly his lips move to my jaw, trailing burning, open mouthed kisses down my neck. His hand returns to twist in my hair at the nape of my neck and he roughly pulls my head back, exposing the curve of my throat, collarbone and chest to him fully. I'm completely vulnerable and I don't care one bit as he sets about adding more marks to the ones he's already left on my neck. I moan embarrassingly loudly as he moves back up from where the curve of my breasts begin and settles over my pulse point. He smirks against my skin and pulls away to huff a breath of hot air on my feverish, sensitive skin. I shiver and tug on his hair, forcing his lips back up to mine. He let's me have charge for a few moments, then pulls back and presses his forehead to mine. My eyes flutter open and I meet his icy blue ones, not caring at all that he's smirking, radiating smugness as I gasp for breath. I see the challenge in his eyes and I accept it. Instead of smirking at him, I turn coy, looking up at him through my lashes and purposefully biting my swollen lower lip. The smirk freezes on his face as I stroke one hand down his cheek, trailing my fingers down his strong neck and resting it above his heart, rubbing small circles with my thumb. I hold his gaze as I press my lips to his once more, this time however I refuse to open my mouth to his tongue. I simply pour as much passion, fire and sweetness as I can into the slow closed mouth kiss.

"Fuck," he murmurs as I free his mouth, planting tiny fleeting kisses along his jaw to his ear.

I keep the kisses as soft and light as possible, teasingly leaving him wondering if I am actually kissing him, then I breathe hot air onto his ear, "Mine."

He groans loudly and I'm smirking so widely I can barely follow through with my plan. Somehow I manage. I fasten my lips to the patch of skin behind his ear and he completely looses it. Just as he made me come undone in the elevator, I suck and nibble at the sweet spot, his cursing and rumbling groans of my name sending new thrills shooting through my body.

"Mine," I breathe into his ear again, letting my lips brush against it tauntingly.

With a growl, Cato seizes my face between his hands and smashes his lips back onto mine. It's so passionate, so filled with burning emotions, possessive and demanding, yet gentle and protective, that my feet lose their grip on each other and I sag completely against the tree, Cato's weight the only thing stopping me from crumbling to the ground in a pile of goo. A kiss so burning with passion cannot be improved upon and Cato obviously agrees with me, because just as we reach the flaming peak he pulls back and we cling to each other, both gasping for breath. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling the smell, which after two nights of sleeping in his arms, is familiar and comforting. I revel in simply being so close to him. Soaking in as much of him as I possibly can. After a moment he lifts me up again and sinks to the ground, drawing me into his lap and simply holding me. His hands rub burning circles on the bare skin of my back and his breath tickles my neck as he breathes deeply, his face buried in my hair.

"You stole my line," he murmurs some time later and I feel a surge of pride because his voice is still low and husky.

"Mine," I whisper into his shoulder, my voice just as breathy as his.

"Not sure anyone can argue after that," he replies quietly right into my ear.

I pull back and stare at him in shock. His eyes are soft and warm as they meet mine, genuine. He means it. Cato just admitted to being mine. He _submitted_ to me. I lift my lips to his ear curling my hand around to ensure that no camera and no audience member will see or hear my words, they're for him, and only for him, "I'm yours Cato."

My words make a shudder run through his whole body and his arms tighten around me. A satisfied and possessive growl rumbling from his lips, "Rosilda."

"Rose," I tell him, "It's Rose," this time it's he who pulls back to stare at me with a sort of shocked wonder on his face.

"Rose," he repeats, a smile blooming on his face as it's my turn to shudder against him in reaction to his voice saying my name.

I hum in contentment and press a light, messy kiss to the skin of his shoulder, before pulling out of his embrace and clambering to my feet. Even after sitting on the ground, my legs are shaky and I have to steady myself on the tree trunk, before I stagger over to the sleeping bag and our supplies. Cato rumbles with displeasure and watches me like a hawk as I finally succeed in finding my t-shirt. It's slightly damp and most of the blood has been washed out of the treated fabric. I slip it on and glance down at my stomach with a small sigh. The fabric has been torn to ribbons both there and on my shoulder, still I've had enough of walking around in only a bra and I have nothing else.

"I am so going to start a new trend," I say optimistically and strike a ridiculous pose, though the thought of the Capitol people sitting on the edge of their seats, watching my every move and imitating the claw marks in their flamboyant, extravagant costumes doesn't exactly make me leap for joy.

"You look better without it on."

I turn my head to pull a face at him, "So you want the entire country to see me without a shirt on?"

It's actually amusing to watch the emotions flash across his face, shock and realisation, slight embarrassment, then anger, followed by a frustrated sort of possessiveness. He growls and gets to his feet, looping an arm around my waist and scowling up at the trees and sky as if they've mortally offended him. I snicker and pull free, walking away from him to pick up my full drink bottle. I've opened it and am about to drink when I remember something and glance at him, "You treated this, right?"

"What?" he asks distractedly, still glaring around us furiously.

"With the iodine?" I clarify, "Cato?"

He gives me his full attention and I repeat my first question, "I couldn't find any purification tablets," he admits, then seeing the open bottle in my hand demands with worry, "Have you drunk any?"

"No," I respond and fish out my iodine bottle with slight amusement, "I might not have your fancy, instantaneous purification tablets, but I do have iodine," I hold up the bottle helpfully and set about adding the required drops to the water bottle, "It makes the water taste a bit funny," I admit, screwing the lids to both bottles back on, "But it works."

"Then… why aren't you drinking the water?" Cato asks with slight suspicion in his voice.

I try and fail at keeping the amused grin off my face, "If you'd spent less time harassing me and bothered to actually listen to the trainers at the survival stations, you'd know the water has to sit for half an hour for the iodine to work."

Cato scratches his head and scowls at the bottle of water, "That's annoying," he states after a moment, then adds, "Maybe if you didn't react so well I would have left you alone."

"Funny," I mutter, "Linden constantly told me the same thing."

The air becomes charged for a moment, then Cato fumbles with my hand, encasing my small one in his large one and giving it a squeeze, "I shouldn't have said what I did about him," he mumbles gruffly.

I know it's as close to an apology as I'm probably going to get and squeeze his hand back, "We both say stupid things when we get angry."

Cato nods in agreement, then speaks, his voice slow and rough, but sincere, "I respected him for his loyalty to you. Your district and his family should take pride in him. He didn't change."

I tense, because it's the first slightly treasonous thing I've heard come out of Cato's mouth, "No," I agree bitterly, "And now he's dead. We're just pawns in their game, being sacrificed for the greater good."

 _Make him pay for it Thorns._

Cato stiffens and shoots me a nervous glance, "We're bringing honour to our districts," he mutters, "Pride to our _families_."

I freeze and say in a forced jovial tone, "I've always wanted to play chess. Guess I got lucky when I was reaped! Now I get to play a life-size game of it!"

"You'd be a rook, not a pawn," he mutters.

"A castle?" I ask with a smirk, "What does that make you? A knight?"

He puffs put his chest and smirks back at me, "Of course. It was you who said I was chivalrous after all."

"Escorting me back to my seat like that," I reply mockingly, making my voice drip with sarcasm, "A regular gentleman."

I don't say it, because it'll only cause trouble, but from the little I know about chess, when the rook and knight work together, they can take out almost anything. The Queen, the bishops, even the King. In this situation I'd say the bishop is the Capitol audience, the Queen is the Gamemakers and the King… President Snow himself.

"The question is," Cato mutters, drawing my attention back to him, "Are you black or white?"

I tilt my head to the side and shrug, "Which are you?"

He shrugs too and we stand in silence for a moment, then I pull away and go to roll up the sleeping bag. I suppose it's better this way. There's only one winner. Nobody is really on the same team.

"We should leave soon," I say focusing on the sleeping bag as I attach it to my backpack, "It's about three hours walk to the cornucopia."

My stomach rumbles audibly and I sigh, pulling out the bag of nuts and taking a small handful before offering it to him. He doesn't take it, just stares at me silently, his eyes studying my face, trailing down to my neck and the lingering on my stomach. I can't tell what he's thinking, the mask has come over his face and I frown slightly as I gaze back at him, waiting for him to speak or move. When he does it's because his eyes are widening in disbelief. I turn around and watch blankly as a parachute lands on the ground. Neither of us move to get it.

"That's not an elephant," I finally sigh, "Must be for you."

Cato snorts loudly, "There is no way my mentors will be sending me anything, they're probably sending Clove extra throwing knives in the hope that she takes the hint and kills me the moment I show up. They'll be furious I didn't kill you. It has to be for you."

I shake my head, "Johanna will be furious with me too," a smirk makes my lips twitch up, "Actually, I'd pay good money to hear her reactions to everything. My brother's too actually. They're both very creative in their cursing."

"She sent medicine that saved your life," Cato reminds me, "I'd say she's rather fond of you."

"Still didn't send me the elephant," I mutter, but cautiously approach the parachute, "Guess we'll find out who it's from when we open it."

Cato follows and sinks into a crouch beside me, but lets me crack open the canister, "Too bad this only satisfies one type of hunger! Didn't know you had it in you Thorns. Your poor brothers." I read blankly, "Johanna!" I growl, feeling my face flush red as I avoid looking anywhere at Cato.

There's a moment of silence, then he starts laughing. Guffawing more like. I shoot him a furious glare, but he just grins back, "Told you it was a bad idea to insult Johanna Mason."

"My family," I moan, "Laurel and Rob are watching… mother of elm! my parents are watching!" my face goes pale and I read the slip of paper again, "Bloody hell! Fletcher's going to be close to exploding. I've spent all these years lecturing him and…" I cover my face with my hands, "I can practically hear the jokes: _Nice job Rose, another round and maybe you'll discover a new way to knock a tree down_!"

Cato just laughs harder, "I'm sure your family averted their eyes."

"The whole country," I whisper and then my blood truly goes cold as I clue in, "No."

My shoulders start to shake and I clench my jaw. _Wren was watching_. He saw me without my shirt on. He saw me weak and vulnerable. My hands curl into fists and I desperately cling to the anger, because otherwise I'll probably have another episode. Cato stops laughing and eyes me cautiously, reaching out to lay his hands over my tight fists. I flinch slightly.

"Is there someone back home?" he asks quietly, "Someone you… care for?"

I snort in contempt and shake my head, "No. Only someone I wish was here. I think _you_ would quite enjoy killing him, not that I'd let you. He's _mine_ ," I spit the words and scowl up at the sky.

"Wren?" Cato guesses, making me freeze, "Yesterday… you said I was Cato, not Wren. It was what calmed you down. He did something to you," Cato guesses and his eyes darken with dangerous anger as he cocks his head contemplatively, "Was he the one who brought you to the brink? The one who brought it out in you?"

I suck in a deep breath and nod once.

"There's a trainer," Cato begins very quietly after a moment's pause, "He's worse than all the others. Killed a few of his cadets. Tried to kill Clove. Nearly killed me," his jaw tightens, "Clove and I made a pact. If one of us makes it out of here, that's how we honour the other. By ending him."

I swallow, but can only nod. Cato's voice is chilling, but I understand perfectly.

"The thought of him watching us," I murmur and shudder, gritting my teeth and reaching for the parachute and canister to push it out of my mind. I unscrew it and the aroma of warm bread hits hard. There are six bread rolls and a small warm pot of some sort of savoury stew. The smell makes my mouth water and my stomach twist with hunger.

"Thanks Johanna," I murmur, seizing a bread roll in each hand and tossing one at Cato. He catches it before it hits him and stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment.

"But it's your sponsor gift," he says cluelessly, "Why are you giving me this?"

I frown at him for a moment, "There's more than enough for two. Hell, this was intended to be for two people! I bet Johanna tried to send an odd number of rolls just to stress me out," I smile up at the sky, "Thanks Hillier."

Cato continues to stare at me, but I ignore him, breaking my roll in half and moaning at the smell that hits me. I hold out for another few moments, before it becomes unbearably and I tear a piece off with my teeth, closing my eyes as the warm, floury taste fills my mouth. Best thing I've ever tasted. I finish the roll within ten seconds and it takes great restraint to stop myself from falling on another one. Instead I carefully open the lid of the stew and push it slightly in Cato's direction. He doesn't move. I glance up and am surprised to see he's still holding the roll looking lost.

I catch his eye and give him a small smile, "You were unconscious for two days. Eat it Cato… unless you're worried Johanna has poisoned the food?"

He stares at me a moment longer and his eyes soften, looking almost warm, "Thanks Rose."

I just shake my head at him and put it down to a weird thing the Careers have about sharing sponsor gifts. I eat the second roll slower, ripping pieces off to dunk into the rich, warm stew. I'm still hungry and I gaze longingly at my third roll for several minutes, before firmly setting my jaw and wrapping it up in the parachute, stuffing it into my backpack. Cato pauses in his demolition of his third roll and a guilty look crosses his face, "You're bigger than me," I say simply, "And you barely ate anything for two days. Finish the stew too."

He hesitates, but Careers aren't used to going hungry and eventually he does as I told him to. I wait a few moments longer, then stand up, checking to make sure all my supplies have been collected up. I scowl down at the chicory plant for a moment, then shove it in my bag too, it might be bruised and covered in dirt, but it's still mostly edible. After slipping my knife into my belt I unscrew the lid of my water bottle and greedily drink half of it, before wordlessly handing it to Cato. This time he doesn't hesitate to take and finish it.

"That tastes disgusting," he informs me with a scowl.

"So sorry," I mumble sarcastically, bending down to pick up my spear, "Come on, we're going to the river first."

He mutters something I don't hear as I set off quickly for the tree line. The sounds of him scrambling to collect his meagre belongings and hurry after me does nothing to ease the tension that's growing within me. I'm confused and I don't like it. I have no idea where I stand with Cato and it is doing nothing for my stress-levels to have him behind me with a sword in his hands.

The first thing I do at the river is fill the bottle and treat it, slipping it into my backpack. Next I pull off my boots and socks and unbuckle my belt. The day is stiflingly warm again so I should dry quickly and the dried blood on my trousers arms and matting my hair is disgusting. Besides… I'm fairly sure I smell pretty bad.

I don't give Cato a second glance as I carefully wade my way into the river. When I reach my stomach I wince, and push off, diving into the water so I'm completely submerged. The cold water feels heavenly and I swim along the bottom of the river until my lungs burn for air, pushing off and shooting out of the water. A small laugh escapes me as I lift my hands to push the hair off my face and scrub the blood out of it.

"Fucking hell Rosilda!"

I whirl around at the sound of the angry voice behind me and see that Cato has waded into the river without bothering to remove any of his clothes - not even his boots. He's glaring at me furiously, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted.

"Don't do that!" he hisses at me.

"What?" I ask blankly, my limbs refusing to move.

This only seems to make him angrier and he curses loudly before turning and stomping back to the bank, still muttering to himself. I stare after him and shake my head slowly. Talk about mood-swings.

It only occurs to me a few minutes later as I irritably scrub the blood out of my long thick hair and mutter curses at Marcella for not letting me cut it that Cato was _worried_. The thought makes me freeze. I straighten up and turn to stare at him. He's plonked down on the bank, his sword in his hands, scowling around at the forest, alert and tense. I slowly make my way back towards him until I'm standing right in front of him, patiently waiting until he turns his glare up to me.

"This river is nothing compared to the one at home," I say casually, inspecting his face for some sort of reaction. His scowl deepens and he looks away, which makes me smile slightly. I was right. He was worried.

I grin widely as sit down beside him to put my boots back on. I'm still smiling as I wring as much water out of my hair as I can and braid it tightly back from my face. I have just tied it off and picked up my belt when someone gives a light tug on my braid. I tense and wait warily for Cato to speak. He tugs on the braid again gently then says,

"I've never understood why girls have such long hair. It's a weakness."

I remember my own thoughts on the subject and scowl murderously down at my hands. I really don't want to have things in common with Cato and the fact that they keep cropping up is starting to piss me off.

"A pretty weakness though."

I inhale sharply and turn my glare up to the sky, before getting to my feet and moving quickly away from Cato. I glance towards him from under my lashes as I turn my head down to buckle the belt and stick my knife through it. He's frowning in my direction, looking slightly confused. This makes me irrationally annoyed until I remember he was probably paying me what he thought was a compliment.

"My stylist made me promise not to cut it," I say stiffly, pulling my backpack onto my shoulders with a small wince as the weight settles over my still tender skin, "Said it was the only thing about me she didn't have to fix."

Cato lifts an eyebrow and smirks cockily, "My stylist told me I was the finest specimen she ever had the pleasure to design for."

I scowl, "That's because you don't have to have your eyebrows plucked, most of your body waxed or patchy sun-burn and tan lines to contend with! As if that wasn't bad enough, apparently my body is all out of proportion. You should have seen the drama over the fact that my parade costume was too big at the waist, but too small to go over-"

I cut myself off and scowl darkly to hide the fact I can feel my cheeks going red, "Even once she fixed that it was still ridiculously tight," I mutter haughtily.

"The armour my stylist made for my parade costume didn't fit either," he informs me with a smirk and a deliberate look down at my chest to show that he understood exactly where I had been going with my complaining before I caught myself, "didn't fit across my shoulders."

"That's because you're out of proportion too," I snap, though can't stop my eyes from flicking to take in his broad muscular shoulders. Fucking hell he's strong. I scowl as I feel heat rise to my cheeks. _Damn it Rose._

When his lips start twitching as if he's trying to hold back laughter, I flick my braid over my shoulder and stomp back towards the trees in the direction of the cornucopia. I'd love to send Cato off by himself in the vague direction of it, but he'd get lost for sure. _Useless Career._

I hear Cato snicker as he moves to follow me and the grip on my spear tightens to extremity until he has fallen into step beside me and I can easily see him. Slowly I let my grip relax and instead concentrate on being aware of my other surroundings. Unconsciously, I'm still moving the way I did as a child, sticking to shadows, flitting from tree to tree and several times Cato halts for a brief second, a comically confused look on his face until his eyes land on me again. It brings me a twisted sense of satisfaction to see him squirm and I don't try to make it easier for him. When I manage to disappear for the fourth time he loses his temper.

"Stop screwing around Seven!"

I go for an innocent, politely confused smile, "What do you mean… Two?"

His jaw tightens and his scowl deepens as he wordlessly gestures to me, then to the trees, "Stop doing whatever you're doing?"

"Breathing?" I suggest, tilting my head, "Would make for better odds I guess."

He growls and takes a threatening step towards me, "No! Stop disappearing!"

"Disappearing?" I repeat, "What do you mean?"

When he grunts in eloquent rage and waves is arms around again to encompass our surroundings, I can't stop the smile from crossing my face. Clearly expressing yourself with words wasn't a skill focused on in Career Academies.

"It's all self-preservation," I say lightly, "You're so loud I'm surprised nobody's jumped us yet. If they see you walking all by yourself, hours from the other Careers they might be tempted enough to attack. Especially if they don't realise I'm here too-"

"So you're trying to get me killed?" he spits, his hand going to his sword.

I just roll my eyes, "No. I'm sure between the two of us we could eliminate most of the other tributes."

"A mutt nearly killed you yesterday," he reminds me irritably.

"Which is why I'm walking quietly," I reply exasperatedly, "Why I'm not walking in plain sight! Honestly, you're worse than the people back home who just walk down the middle of the road! Everyone sees you coming, there's no fun in that."

"Fun," he repeats, shaking his head slowly, " _Fun_!"

"Strange concept for you I'd imagine," I say without a trace of mocking or pity. I'm stating a fact. "Look, just watch where you place your feet and instead of walking between the trees, walk next to them, use their shadows as camouflage."

He shoots me an odd look and releases a hiss of annoyance, but when I turn away to keep walking he no longer sounds like a human equivalent of a marching band, complete with a flaming arrow above his head saying 'Tribute over here!'. The more I listen to him however, the quieter he becomes and after twenty minutes of us not talking he sighs deeply.

"How do you know how to move like this? You don't seem like the type of person who wants to blend in all the time."

I swallow and slow to walk next to him, "I'm not sure you know me well enough to make comments like that."

He looks incredulous, "No girl as distracting, defiant, stubborn and hot-tempered as you could possibly blend in."

I ignore the warm, pleasant fizzing in my stomach and plant a small smirk on my face, "I think there was a compliment in there somewhere."

He growls quietly, "Fine. Tell me about something then. You have a brother?"

"Three," I reply and watch in amusement as he suddenly looks uneasy.

"Older?"

"Two older and one younger. Same with sisters."

His eyes widen, "You have six siblings? That must be… amazing."

I smile, thinking about my family, "It is. Laina and Glen have moved out and have their own families now, but I still see them almost every day. Glen's wife is pregnant and Tillia's getting married in a few weeks. After that she'll be gone too."

"And …Fletcher?" Cato asks, "Is he your other older brother?"

I nod slowly, "He's only a year older than me. I guess he's my best friend. We're probably the most alike, although… not as much as we used to be," my voice has turned sad and despite the oppressive heat, I shiver.

"What about your younger siblings? What are their names?"

"Laurel and Robin," I answer, trying to swallow the sudden lump in my throat, "They're only fourteen. Both of them are absolutely petrified of…" I want to say the Games or the Capitol, but I can't say that, because the Capitol wouldn't like it at all, so instead I say, "...dying. Laurel has nightmares almost every night and it… it kills me that…" that she's most likely going to have to watch her older sister be murdered, "...that I can't do anything about it," I say instead.

"They both try to act so old, they both think they're mature and not at all ch-children anymore, but they are!" the words are just spilling out now, fast in an emotional and almost incomprehensible stream, "And I don't want them to have to grow up. I don't want them to lose sight of all the good in the world… because it's there. Even in here," I gesture around us and blink furiously to keep tears away, "It's beautiful. And no matter how much any of us wish it was different, all of us, all the tributes, we all have good left too. We all have things we're fighting for, we all have someone to fight for, something to prove or something to achieve. I never want them to forget that even though some things really do suck, they have each other, they have people they love and they have things worth fighting and living for. I don't want them to go through their whole lives sad. I don't want them to have to be something they're not or build walls around themselves or never, ever trust anyone. I want them to be happy and have a future worth all the pain and suffering. I just…" I sniff and draw in a deep breath to calm myself, "I guess I just really miss them," I finish lamely, ducking my head in mortification over my tirade and to try and escape Cato's burning gaze, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No," he cuts me off gruffly, "Don't apologise. Not for loving your family, or for…" he looks away and clears his throat before continuing gruffly, "You'd have been a better Girl-on-Fire than the Ice Queen from Twelve. She doesn't seem capable of that much…" he screws his face up thoughtfully, "passion I guess," he finally mumbles, "even when you might never see them again, you still want the best for them."

"That's what love is," I murmur quietly, swallowing a lump in my throat as I recall the number of times I've been called cold or frigid. I'm no girl-on-fire either. Not really.

"I… I wouldn't know," it is a fact, stated firmly. His voice doesn't betray any emotion, but his face and posture do, "Probably never will."

I study him unabashedly. This is the real Cato. The one without all the layers of aggression, arrogance and anger at the world. The one that I doubt many people got to see, maybe the one he didn't want people to see. It makes my heart speed up and my chest ache with a horrible yearning. Before I know it tears are pooling in my eyes. I don't know why, I can't explain them. All I know is that in that moment I desperately wish we are somewhere else. Anywhere else. In this moment something shifts, I can't name it, I don't understand it. I close my eyes and hang my head, drawing in one deep, shuddering breath and sniffing once before blinking rapidly and steeling myself.

We aren't somewhere else. We are in the Hunger Games. There was only one winner. _No, Rose, there's a survivor_. Nobody wins the Hunger Games. That survivor… I never thought I'd start doubting whether I wanted it to be me.

"No," I breathe, forcing myself to look at Cato and fiercely saying, "We can't afford to think like that. We _can't_. I'm going to see my family again. You're going to have a chance at knowing what love feels like. We have to believe that."

A strange look crosses his face and in one motion he pulls me close, wrapping one arm around my waist and holding me tightly against him as he lowers his mouth to my ear and cups his hand around it, "Because if we don't they've already won."

The words are so quiet I barely hear them. I can almost pretend I haven't. No camera would have been able to pick them up. They are for me alone and I have heard them. I blink up at Cato, frozen in his arms as he stares steadily back at me. His gaze piercing and serious softens and icy blue melts to something much warmer. The lump is back in my throat and I don't trust myself to speak, so I just nod my head once and wrap my arms around him tightly. He holds me just as tight and I bury my face in his shoulder until I have my expression under control again.

"I wish…" I breathe as I turn my head into the side of his neck, "I wish…"

"I know," he sighs into my hair, squeezing me just as tight, "Me too."

I pull back after a few moments, already straightening my shoulders and lifting my chin, "Let's get you back to your district partner before her pacing wears a hole in the arena floor."

He nods once and the cool, calm mask reclothes his face. We resume walking again, but the ache in my chest doesn't go away. My eyes are drawn to him, I can't help it. I'll be scanning the surrounding forest intently, but every few seconds my head will turn slightly and my eyes will flick to him for a moment before I resume sweeping for danger. That is how I know there is no change in his expression, no outward display of emotion. His eyes simply flick to meet mine for the barest second, then my hand is being swallowed in a much larger, warmer one.

He squeezes tightly for a moment, then relaxes, and suddenly we're walking hand in hand.

 **...**

 **I hope this chapter was worth waiting for! Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to show their support, I really appreciate hearing your opinions! Let me know what you think of this chapter, and I promise the next will be up next week!**

 **\- xx**


	20. Chapter 20

*** Chapter Twenty ***

* * *

We walk mostly in silence. I don't want to talk about my family anymore, it hurts too much and I imagine Cato would feel the same way. Despite our silence, we hold hands the entire two hours of walking. It's completely impractical; stupid even. It's a good thing I'm left handed and he appears to be right hand dominant, because I hold my spear in the other hand and his free one almost always rests on the pommel of his sword. I constantly scan the trees, my ears pricked, instinctively moving as silently as possible. His eyes scan too, alert and tense, the mask never letting up. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, our grips on the other's hand never loosens. Not once.

Eventually I begin to recognise we are getting close to the cornucopia and unconsciously my pace slows. Cato must realise we've almost reached our destination, because he drags his feet too. When my experienced eyes finally pick up on the flashes of light visible ahead I come to a complete stop and look down at my dirty boots, releasing his hand and pulling mine close to my side.

"The meadow is just ahead. I shouldn't go any closer."

He steps into my space aggressively but his hand is gentle on my chin when he lifts it so I have to meet his gaze. I do so proudly, keeping my expression neutral and my eyes fixed on him.

"You could still join the Alliance," he murmurs and the careful mask is gone, I can see the desperate plea in his eyes and a soft gleam of something more, "They wouldn't dare try and kill you. Not even Clove."

I hold his gaze and slowly, sadly shake my head, I'm too realistic for that, "I'm not making this harder than it already is. There's only ten of us left. Only one of us can win. The answer is still no."

Anger crosses his face, his eyes burn with it and his mouth pulls up in a sneer. I don't flinch when his hand drops, instead staring at him beseechingly, willing him to understand. He does and the anger disappears, replaced with defeat. I only see it for a moment before he collects himself and plants a cocky smirk on his face, "Nice to know it's not me that makes the offer so unappealing."

I force myself to smirk right back, "You'll notice the absence of yelling and slapping this time-"

He rolls his eyes, "Anger. You know I've never had that reaction before."

"So I wasn't the first girl you offered that ultimatum to?" I drawl with raised eyebrows.

He hesitates the smirk falling to a small genuine smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, "No, you were definitely the first girl I offered that particular ultimatum to."

"Don't I feel special," I say mockingly, "Out of all twelve of us, I'm the only one!"

"Because you're definitely a regularly innocent outer-district girl!" Cato actually looks a little sheepish and a hint of defensiveness colours his curiosity and sarcasm.

I tense and shake my head, smiling without a trace of humour, "There's not a single person back home who would agree with you about that. Not a single one."

"Hooked up with all of them?" he tries to ask casually, but there's a tension in his shoulders.

I snort disbelievingly and bitterly shake my head again, "I'm as contaminated as they come... do you really see me as that kind of girl?"

"After all the yelling and slapping? I'd hardly say if I did," he scoffs, though there's a question in his eyes that I desperately hope he won't ask, "Nobody can kiss like that without some sort of experience."

"Guess that just proves I'm not a nobody," I say, tilting my head to the side and smiling slightly at the compliment, "With the way you kiss, you can't be one either."

"Not a nobody," he repeats and preens a little despite his obvious amusement, "I hope you have favourable odds Rosilda."

I consider the phrase for a moment and wonder if it's a District Two saying,"Goodbye Cato. I…" I bite my lip to stop the words threatening to topple out and lift my chin higher, "Good luck. Just… just remember, you can eat dandelions," the words spill out before I can swallow them, "the whole plant, roots, stem, leaves and flower. The meadow is full of them, you could probably live for a week off them. And it's three iodine drops for a litre of water… just in case you run out of your fancy tablets."

He looks suspicious for a moment, then nods slowly, "Alright. Well… just you remember to not rush your spear throws and-"

"Visualise," I finish, remembering his words in the training centre, "You're a good teacher. Even if you have an atrocious temper and no patience."

"You're a good student. Even if you don't want to listen and refuse to ask for help."

We smile at each other for a moment, but eventually they waver and we simply stare at each other in silence. Then he clears his throat and takes a step away from me, "Try not to get attacked by any more wild dogs."

"Try not to get stung by anymore tracker jackers," I shoot back.

"Try not to insult Johanna Mason again."

"Try to survive Clove's violent act of relief that you're alright."

That earns me a small smile and after a moment he murmurs, "Just try not to get yourself killed Rose-"

"I know, I know," I roll my eyes dramatically, "I'm yours. Wouldn't want to deny you _t_ _he honour_."

"I won't let Clove kill me," he replies after grinning for smugly for a moment, "After all, I'm yours too, right?"

Warmth pools in my stomach and the ache in my chest intensifies so much I want to claw at it, instead I just swallow thickly and nod as firmly as possible, "Don't die," I manage to get out, though my voice is slightly choked, "Just… please don't!"

"Final two," he promises, his eyes darken and a muscle in his jaw twitches as he wavers on the spot; teetering between reaching for me and leaving.

 _Final two._

The tears are threatening again, because I don't want that. I don't want that at all.

I know that if he wraps his arms around me the tears will become impossible to hold back and I've had enough of crying on national television so I force myself to nod and manage a tight smile, motioning for him to go ahead. He straightens his shoulders and takes one last long look at me, before turning around and striding determinedly towards the thinning trees and the cornucopia.

I've never really understood the phrase, 'it feels like my heart is breaking', but it hurts so much to see him walk away from me that the only explanation seems to be that. It really does feel as if something in my chest is being shattered into a million pieces. I don't think he's going to look back, but he does. He stops and half turns at the very edge of the tree line. For a long, long moment we simply stare at each other. Piercing blue meets vibrant green and we're frozen; held still by each other. Finally I tear my eyes away and turn my back. With a flick of my hair and agonising pressure in my chest I force myself to walk away, melting into the shadows and moving until I'm sure he will have lost sight of me. I peer over my shoulder, just in time to see a flash of movement — a single branch at the very edge of the woods, whipping back into place.

I sink to the ground right there behind a tree and hold my head in my hands.

I should go back, watch Clove and Cato reunite, see if Marvel has woken, or I should move. I should run; just in case the minute he meets up with Clove, he leads her back here to kill me. I can't though, I can't bring myself to move. A single tear drips down my cheek and I sniff too many times to count, trying desperately to hold myself together.

"Why didn't I listen?" I whisper to myself. Linden told me, he knew I couldn't do it.

I don't know how long I sit there. I just want the pain in my chest to go away. I want the weakness in me to vanish. I want to be brave and strong again. I want to be Rosilda Aspen. The girl from Seven that scored a Ten, that was brave enough to challenge a Career, who stood up to Johanna Mason, walked forward confidently at the Reaping and didn't cry until she was alone in the shower, where she could pretend the tears didn't exist. I want to be the girl that fearlessly spoke at the Interviews, who dragged her district partner up to the roof and who continued to live her life the way she wanted to, despite everything that had happened. But sitting here on the hard, dirty, ground, in the middle of the Hunger Games arena… I am just Rose. An eighteen year old girl. A tribute. Nobody important in the larger scheme of things. A forgotten person in someone else's victory tape.

I was just Rose.

It is a while later when I reach into the pocket of my trousers and pull out Johanna's first note: _Make him pay for it Thorns._

I was just Rose… but roses have thorns.

 _I believe in you, Rose._

"Get off your arse Aspen," I mumble, straightening my back and reaching for my spear. I lift my head high and set my jaw determinedly as I slowly pick myself off the ground.

My feet carry me around the edge of the meadow until I'm far away from the place I left Cato. I steel myself, because I know this is going to hurt and slip forward until I'm crouched in the shadows at the tree-line. It does hurt, it hurts deep in my chest to see Cato lounging on the ground, while Clove paces around him angrily. As I watch she abruptly sinks to the ground beside him with a huff. I gaze detachedly as she reaches over and punches his shoulder. He punches her's back and then all of a sudden they're hugging. My throat constricts and I tear my eyes away to search the campsite. The boy from Three is sitting with his back to me closer to the supply pile than the pair from Two. He doesn't look very happy. With every sideways glance he sends towards the Careers his shoulders slump a little further. I grimace slightly, bet he would have thrown a party if I'd killed Cato.

I turn my attention towards the supply pile and my mouth drops open as I see a small red-head girl crouched on the other side of the heap to the Careers. She's quickly stuffing things into a small orange bag. I watch as she slings it over her shoulder and begins an odd series of jumps and twists and hops over the disturbed ground where the mines are buried, then sprints for the tree-line, not far from me. I leap to my feet and move quickly to intercept her. By the time she's gotten a hundred metres deep into the forest, I'm there waiting, leaning casually against a tree.

"Very impressive."

Terror crosses her face and she half leaps out of her skin as wide, frightened eyes snap to me. She relaxes slightly when she sees me, but her shoulders are still tense and her mouth sets, "Hello Rose. Fancy seeing you here the same time as Cato just happens to walk out of the forest, looking better than when he left," her voice drips with sarcasm.

I feel my cheeks heat up, but I defiantly lift my chin, "Have you thought anymore about setting off the mines?"

She scowls and her sharp eyes sweep over my face and torso before she says shortly, "Yes. I see he made up his mind. Your neck looks disgusting."

My hands immediately fly to the exposed skin and my cheeks feel as though they're on fire, "I know. I'm an idiot."

She sniffs haughtily and hefts her sack a bit higher on her shoulder, "Well at least you acknowledge it. I'm surprised you still want to go through with your mental idea, I guess that proves you really are mentally challenged."

I sigh irritably; Brinna can be a hard person to get along with, "So about that 'mental idea', what have you decided?"

"I believe I said we would discuss it tomorrow," she replies cooly, her lips pressing into a thin and unimpressed line.

"Well we're both here now! How about you tell me what you've decided so far?" I huff and when she doesn't immediately respond, harshly ask, "Why do you want so much time anyway?"

"I was hoping a few more people might succumb to the tracker jacker venom," she sniffs disdainfully, "Thanks to you Cato won't be one of them, but One still hasn't woken up and no cannons have gone off, so both from Twelve are still breathing too. Who knows for how much longer though. You said both of them were hurt as well as stung? They could be on the brink of death right now."

I frown and think about that, "So? Better odds for us, but why does that change anything?"

She rolls her eyes like I'm still being stupid, "Imagine we do actually manage to blow up all the supplies. Now put yourself in the Elites' shoes. Who in the arena will they immediately think is behind it?"

"Me," I mumble, thinking about Cato's anger when he realised I knew about the mines.

"Perhaps, but if it wasn't you, who would have done it?"

"The Girl-on-Fire," I finally say with dawning realisation, "That's who Marvel and maybe even Clove will think did it."

"Exactly," Brinna nods, "Especially if you're right about her getting an eleven with her shooting. She might be the only person in the arena who _could_ actually blow the food up without blowing herself up too!"

I stare at her in disbelief as she gives me a long pointed look, "Don't tell me you want to join up with her?" I demand with horror, "That'd be almost as bad as trying to make an alliance with _Marvel_! I was literally stuck in the same tree as her, we helped each other and the moment I let my guard down she tried to kill me! If we could get close enough to her to explain before she killed us, she'd only shoot later. We're _nobody_ to her Brinna! She's in this to win and she doesn't care how she does it. She doesn't care about any of us, hell she doesn't even care about _Peeta_! He might be in love with her, but if he stood between her and getting home to her sister, there would be an arrow through his neck sooner than you can blink!"

Brinna's eyes flash with real fury as she sneers, "But saving a Career from Two that got a ten in training is completely conceivable. Of course."

I scowl at her and grit my teeth to try and control my own temper, "We've established I'm an idiot! Now, do you actually want to do this? Because I know how smart you are! We can come up with a way that doesn't involve Twelve-"

"Why are you so eager?" her voice softens, and there's a small furrow in her brows as she studies me like I'm an anomaly she's trying to figure out, "Surely you know that Cato is going to hate you? You know… I don't understand you at all," she sounds very annoyed by this, "You make absolutely no sense Rose, because you weren't lying when you said you hated him in training and I thought you were much too broken to trust someone like him-"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand sharply, "I am not broken!"

She considers me again, "Perhaps not anymore."

"I never was!" I hiss at her, "I didn't break! I didn't!"

She sighs and moves closer, reaching slowly out to lay a hand on my arm. It takes a lot of effort on my part not to flinch away from her, "It's clear that this isn't the first time you've been through something traumatic," she said boldly, making me freeze under her hand and glance around nervously, "And I admire you for holding it together, but are you really strong enough to do this? You know it's practically sentencing them to a slow death to starvation. You wouldn't have done everything you have if you didn't care for him."

 _It's not the same._ The supplies are a stock-pile of resources that make the odds so blatantly uneven, it's ridiculous. The Games themselves might be superficial, with the televised aspect, interviews and costumes turning them into a sick parade that is worse than just rounding up kids and shooting them. By making kids kill each other every year the districts are kept separate. Grudges are held against those that killed your tributes, against the districts that do better than others. It keeps the districts under-control, afraid of the Capitol, but it also keeps them separate from each other. I'm not stupid. I know that the Capitol favours the Careers. I know that they like their Victors to come from districts that are easy to control. The ones with wealth, the ones that have enough that they aren't pressed for survival everyday. Destroying the food, acknowledging that symbol of the Capitol's favour, it evens the odds and it... it might make me something more than a nameless tribute in a forgotten Games.

Like it or not, Cato and I aren't on the same team. He's a Career, an Elite. He's the favourite to win. He's from Two. My own district wouldn't much care if I died. I'm trained only to defend myself against people like him. My family scrapes by, we might not be as poor as some, or as down-trodden as the people of Eleven and Twelve, but my entire district is in an entirely different world to Districts One and Two, even Three and Four. It doesn't matter that my idiocy has lead to me forming some attachment to Cato. It's a personal attachment. The Hunger Games is made for destroying those. This is about something bigger than me, bigger than Cato. Bigger even than the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. If only I can make Brinna understand this without the Capitol understanding.

What the supplies symbolises… the act of destroying them and the effect it'll have on our microcosm? It's treasonous. Nobody with grand ideas of rebellion wins the Hunger Games. They get torn apart by mutts, blown up in a Gamemaker trap or hunted by Careers who are gifted with sponsor weapons and armour. I don't want to die, but I'm also determined that I won't win by playing right along with their plans.

I am not something to control. The Capitol doesn't own me and I'd rather die than have them break me into their idea of their perfect little victor.

"District Five and District Seven," I say, taking a deep breath and speaking slowly and carefully as I try to put my feelings into words, "They aren't so different, are they?"

"Besides the obvious fact that you're right at home in this arena and I've barely seen a tree before?" she snarks.

"Yes," I say patiently, "Five and Seven are even geographically close… aren't they?"

It's her turn to tense up nervously, "That wasn't exactly taught at school, Rose. How should I know?"

"Logically we're numbered geographically," I insist, "Everyone knows Twelve is the furtherest from the Capitol, Seven and Five have to be sort of close together… anyway, my point is that me and you aren't that different. We took tesserae to feed our families, we've both been working for years in whatever jobs we can for money, wore outdated, hand-me-downs to the Reaping and were absolutely amazed and… grateful for the opportunity to see how beautiful the Capitol is. My stylist and escort despaired over the fact I was incapable of walking in heels, but they taught me," I interject wonder into my voice, "they made me feel beautiful and they showed me all the amazing things the trees I cut down were used for. They made Linden and I feel so welcome and helped us to experience as much of their beautiful city and culture as possible."

Brinna is staring at me, she's trying to keep her face blank, but her brain is clearly whirring a hundred miles a minute and there's warning in her eyes, she knows I'm buttering the Capitol up and she knows there's only one reason I'd be doing that. I pause and look her directly in the eye.

"We're not Careers. We're not young and sweetly innocent. We're not complete underdogs like Twelve. We didn't volunteer. We have nothing going for us Brinna, no obvious angle to play up. The odds are not in our favour and unless we do something about that, they aren't going to be. Sure the tributes from One, Two and sometimes Four dedicate their whole lives to surviving the Games, but the rest of us tributes? We're locked in a battle for survival every day too! Yet, every year the Careers have the supplies. It's not fair," I state, then lift my eyebrows significantly at her, "The saying goes that _life_ isn't fair..."

Especially a life where you spend the entire time slaving away for the Capitol's luxurious lifestyle.

"But we can do something about _this._ "

This one tiny little thing that probably won't even be understood by most of the population.

"We can even the odds a little bit, we just have to be brave enough to try. With the supplies gone, they don't really have anything to keep them together. Clove and Cato? Yes, they'll stick to each other until one of them's dead, but the boy from Three and Marvel?" I swallow thickly, "If they get away, then they're just another lone tribute and they're much weaker for it-"

"With the supplies gone there's nothing to keep them here," she interrupts, her eyes narrowing, "They'll be deadly, incredibly pissed-off tributes wandering around the arena and we'll have no idea where they might be. And besides, just because they don't have supplies, doesn't mean they won't have sponsors."

 _Exactly, he'll still have a chance._

I nod in acknowledgment of this and try to explain what I'm feeling, "At least they've earned that by their own merits with their _fantastic_ training scores and simply _engaging_ personalities-"

"Don't forget what shortage of fabric and a gifted stylist can get you," she interrupts dryly with a significant scowl at me.

"True," I allow, giving her an answering glare, "But, all of us had the opportunity to win sponsors, that's fair. This way, it'll help them appreciate the _kindness_ and _generosity_ of the Capitol and maybe not take their dominance in the arena so much for granted."

Seeing that she doesn't look very convinced, I sigh and continue, "I just want to even the playing field. They all had the opportunity to visit the survival stations and instead of taking it, they laughed at the rest of us. They dismissed people like you, because you kept your head down as you perfectly memorised how to treat any injury. I just think maybe it's time we taught them to show the outlying districts some respect. Even Careers know what edible berries look like and Clove is deadly accurate with her knives. They are not going to starve to death in a few weeks, they'll have the same chance as you or me, the same odds. Taking their food doesn't immediately make them lose their training either. They're still going to have a better chance than us at winning, but that time they have to spend looking for food is less time for them to try and kill us."

Brinna is quiet for a long moment, studying me intently. I get the feeling that she's beginning to understand why I'm so driven by this, she's probably picked up by now that I don't want to win if it means sacrificing my morals, my beliefs and my loyalty to the districts. From the things we've said and the things we haven't, both of us understand the other would love an opportunity to challenge the Capitol's power without actually being killed for it. She's smart enough to read between the lines of what I've said and hopefully my family and the people from One and Two are too. I don't much want to incur the wrath of the Career districts.

"You really do have a death wish," Brinna finally whispers, sighing heavily, "I've always liked computers and electronics better than people. Technology is what it is and does what it does. There's no…" she shakes her head then finishes the sentence in a low mutter, "no circuses, just the bread."

"So you're going to help me?" I ask and don't quite manage to contain my anxiety before it can seep into my voice.

She nods slowly, "I guess I have a death wish too. Come on, we need to figure out how we're going to do this and we're a little too close to the Elites for my liking."

I follow her through the woods until we reach a tangle of undergrowth that I'd have taken for insignificant at first glance. Brinna pulls the hood of her jacket over her head and pushes aside thorny, dense branches, squeezing through a tiny gap and crouching until she's almost crawling through the almost impossibly dense tangle. I pause and grimace, then casting a quick look over my shoulder lift my bare arms to cover my face as best I can, before following her. I hiss as immediately my bare skin and long hair are snagged by the thorns and thin branches. Right now the decision to leave Glimmer's jacket seems more stupid than usual, but I push on with a grimace, shuffling after Brinna until she straightens up and steps aside, pushing her hood back and unzipping her jacket. I battle through the last metre and straighten up myself, unbuckling my backpack and shrugging it off carefully as I examine the small clearing in the middle of the Gamemaker engineered wall.

It is small, only a few metres wide, but it's almost like a nest. Brinna has set up a small campsite within the protection of the brambles and I feel privileged to know that she trusts me enough to take me back here. She doesn't have many supplies, but I can see a heat reflective blanket, a metal water bottle that is larger than my own and a first-aid kit as well as a small container of tiny, barely ripe blueberries. The small bag she had with her is carefully placed on the ground and she begins emptying the pockets in her jacket and trousers without looking back at me. I'm vaguely impressed by the amount of things she managed to fit in her pockets, but notice that she doesn't touch the one on the inside of her jacket, which I'm fairly certain has something in it.

Apparently she doesn't trust me enough to show me she has a weapon. Still, if it fits in her pocket, it can't be very big and I don't really blame her considering where we are. Still I check that my knives are easily reachable even as I set my spear carefully on the ground. In these close confines, knives would be my best bet, even if I knew how to actually use a spear, more than what Cato had taught me about throwing one.

"Tell me again," Brinna starts, sinking to sit on her blanket cross-legged, "about the Girl-on-Fire's injuries?"

I pause to think, conjuring up her face and trying to remember how many stings she had.

"She had two stings, one on her cheek," I touch the place on my own face, "And another on her neck. She'd already pulled the stingers out, so they shouldn't be infected, even if she passed out before treating them. I cut her bicep when we were struggling," I hesitate, "Her right bicep. It was deep enough to be bleeding a lot, but I don't think deep enough to have damaged muscles."

"She's small," Brinna murmurs thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed in concentration, "And from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen, sixteen years of age, five foot two inches tall with a weight of ninety pounds- two stings… that's about 40 micrograms per thirty seconds… assuming the stings were in there for at least that amount of time… for her body to break that down without help…"

I can only give her an incredulous look as she declares that Katniss will most likely wake up the next morning, "You memorised her height and weight?"

"Yes, Rosilda Aspen, five foot eight, one hundred and twenty pounds."

I blink at her, "I can't decide whether to be impressed or creeped out."

She just shrugs, "By my guess One will wake up sometime tonight if he's ever going to. He got stung four times, but Two did pull the stingers out and put some Capitol medicine on them before she passed out. I'd like to wait until tomorrow before we do anything, see if One makes it and assuming there's no cannons, that Twelve's pulled through."

"Peeta wasn't in good shape either. I think he managed to get away with only one or two stings, but Cato cut him pretty badly," I supply, "He hasn't died yet, so he's either got some good sponsors or it wasn't as bad as it looked - in which case sepsis will set in sooner or later," I'm silent for a moment, then I can't help but add in a softer, wondering voice, "He did all of that for her you know, it's not just an angle. Not for him."

"Can you sympathise with his unrequited love Rose?"

I shoot her a filthy look for the deadpan tone and haughtily flip my hair, "I don't know what you're referring to Brinna, but I can assure you that you have the complete wrong idea. Now, about these supplies?"

She studies me for a long moment, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes!" I exclaim in exasperation, "Stop asking me that and put that brain of yours to work!"

She still seems reluctant, but eventually nods and takes a deep breath, "Let's see what we can come up with…"

* * *

 **...**

 **What do you guys think about Rose and Cato? What about Brinna? Do you think they really will blow up the supplies? Will they be able to do it alone or will they need to increase their alliance?**

 **I would love to know what you think!**

 **-xx**


	21. Chapter 21

*** Chapter Twenty-One ***

Brinna and I share the blanket and sleeping bag, huddling together for warmth. At one point I wake up and my dazed, sleep befuddled brain blearily thinks it's Cato before I remember he's gone... and he's not coming back. Our time together is as good as over because the next time I see him, he'll be back to trying to kill me. I don't get back to sleep after this and instead I lie on my back, looking up at the stars and wondering if he's doing the same. Maybe he's keeping watch? Maybe he's sound asleep in his tent? Or maybe he's out hunting, searching for a life to end so he's one step closer to going home? Maybe I should be doing the same...

As I had told Brinna I would, I get up early to check the snares I set the night before. If I've caught anything, I want to be able to cook it quickly, before the sun rises to minimise the chance of the smoke being seen. I'm pleasantly surprised that I've managed to catch something in two of my five snares. I've just finished stripping a blackberry bush and am moving purposefully towards a rosemary shrub - because if anything can make the rabbits taste good, it's rosemary - when I hear a stick break right behind me. I almost release the spear out of instict before I realise it's Brinna.

"Mother of elm! You scared the life out of me!" I laugh nervously.

She looks very pleased with herself, "Now you know how I feel all the time when you pop up out of nowhere!"

"You're getting good," I grudgingly admit.

She just smirks smugly in a way that tells me she already knows this. I give her the task of setting up the fire as I skin and clean the rabbits. It's a job that is sufficiently easier now that I've got a knife and soon the two carcasses are roasting on spits over the fire. I'm reasonably relaxed because we've found a thick area of trees to cook under and Brinna's used wood that's as dry as possible. We talk quietly as we wait for the rabbits to cook, munching on berries and vigilantly keeping a close eye on our surroundings. When they're done, Brinna carefully transfers the meat to my pot for us to carry back to her nest as I stamp out the fire.

It's this moment that our guard is the most down. Brinna's crouched over the pot, her hands occupied and my spear is lying uselessly on the ground a few metres away as I scatter the ashes and half burnt logs carefully and dump some dirt on them.

I get only a split second's warning before Brinna's muffled cry sounds. It's a moment where my heart rate elevates and all of a sudden the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Maybe I heard something or maybe I sensed something wasn't right, but by the time Brinna cries out, I have a knife in my hand.

I leap at her and the attacker before really looking. I think I was expecting a Career. I'd all but forgotten about the boy from Ten, the one with the limp. I didn't think he could possibly be really _in_ these Games, I thought he'd be holed up somewhere, desperately hoping to wait everyone out. Instead of the malnourished, half-dead and crippled tribute I was expecting however, I see a half-mad one. He doesn't have a weapon, but he has Brinna by her hair, wrenching her head back to expose her throat.

It's clear what he means to do. There's dried blood around his mouth and down his chin, his eyes are wide and deranged and his teeth are bared in an animalistic way. He snaps for her throat just before I collide with him. I expect him to release Brinna, but he holds onto her hair and she screams as she's pulled down with us.

"Let go!" I shout, shaking him hard, "let go of her!"

When he only bares his teeth, I hit him hard in the jaw and then ruthlessly take hold of his wrist, wrenching it so he's forced to release her hair as the bone breaks. The noise he makes is more of a howl than a scream and he firmly turns his attention, fixating on me as the threat. Brinna scrambles away, her eyes wide with fear and assured that she's now out of danger, I dance out of the boy's reach as he clumsily tries to grab me.

"Stop," I yell at him desperately, "leave us alone!"

He snarls in a way that reminds me distinctly of the wild dog and leaps at me as if to tackle me to the ground. Reflexes kick in and I step to the side, bringing my knee up into his stomach and using his force to dump him hard on the ground. It pulls at my only partially healed wounds and the pain makes me vision blur for a moment.

"Last chance," I get out between gritted teeth, "back the fuck off!"

The next time he tries to leap at me, it's not my right hand that I use to hit him. Callously, I sweep his legs out from underneath him, pin his arms with my body weight and draw my knife hard across his throat.

It doesn't seem real as hot, crimson fluid spills over my hands. It doesn't seem real as he chokes and gargles for breath. It doesn't seem real as he goes limp beneath me. It doesn't seem real as Brinna places a shaky hand on my shoulder.

The thing that makes it real is the cannon that fires the moment I drop the sticky knife.

* * *

"Maybe we should leave the supplies alone," I murmur to Brinna later that morning, picking at the dried blood under my fingernails, "Maybe you're right."

She gives me a look, "I know I'm right. It's a suicidal plan. You also managed to convince me it was worth it."

"Is it, though?" I wonder avoiding her searching gaze.

In my head I can see Cato's reaction as he realises his supplies have gone up in smoke. Can I really do that to him? Can I sentence him, Clove and the others to a slow death to starvation? Can I live with having more death and destruction on my hands?

"Like you've been saying it's almost impossible for us to pull off. Besides… the Careers have dedicated their lives to this… do we really have the right to take it from them?"

Brinna narrows her eyes at me, "Has anyone ever told you that you overthink things Roslida? Where'd that confident, fiery persona go?"

"Maybe that's all it is," I mutter moodily, "A persona."

"Bullshit."

I'm so startled by Brinna swearing that I look up and meet her cool stare.

"Aspen, you declined the Elites offer to eat with them in front of everyone. You walked up to Cato when he was almost rampaging furious and got in between him and his target. You lied and took the fall for both the boy from Six and the girl from Eleven. You won over the Gamemakers in a training session that scored you a ten and that wasn't just because of the amount of skin you were forced to show or because they wanted to amp up the tension between you and Two! You not only turned down his offer of protection but you called him out on it in a live interview! You've survived a week of the Hunger Games and whatever you went through before you were Reaped! You just saved my life and now you're trying to even the scales not just for yourself or me, but for every outlier tribute to come after us. You're entirely right it's not fair the Elites get all the supplies every year when the rest of us have to work our arses off to feed ourselves! The Capitol generously provides all those supplies, the Elites just think they're entitled to them. If anyone's going to show them how wrong they are and take them down a peg or two, it'll be you!"

"But they have worked for that advantage," I reason, "They kill for it every year in the Bloodbath. The rest of us could band together and challenge them, but we never do because we're too scared, we're too isolated, too untrusting of other districts. Maybe it's more fair than I thought."

Brinna looks incredibly exasperated, "Do you want to win these Games or not Rose? It's a battle of odds. The supplies are a visual representation of all the odds stacked against us. You're right, none of the rest of us have a chance if the Elites stay united. The only time an outlier really wins is if the Alliance dissolves early. They're too strong together!"

"But we could have had an alliance too! Why should we resent them for that when the rest of us were just as capable of forming our own one?"

"Says the girl that has refused at least three different alliances! What do you want me to say Rose? Fine! We won't blow up the supplies! But you already turned down my offer of alliance, there'd be no reason for us to stay together."

I'm taken aback by her sudden unfriendly tone, but then I nod slowly, "Maybe that's for the best," my thoughts are starting to become clearer and I slowly get to my feet, "I'm not going to stick around until I die or until I have to watch you die. You never really gave me an answer on how we could possibly get rid of the supplies without blowing ourselves up in the process anyway-"

"I did give you an answer!" Brinna hisses, "And you shot it down because it was another alliance! You know that shooting with arrows would be the best way to go about it and you know who we'd have to team up with to make that happen! You know what your problem is Rosilda? Besides having no idea what you actually want, you can't let down your barriers to actually _trust_ someone! You're broken! You just don't want to admit it!"

If there was ever a moment in the whole Games when I could have killed Brinna, it is now. My shoulders straighten, my mouth hardens and every single barrier I have let down rises back up. For a moment a flash of fear flicks across the red-head's face, but then she crosses her arms defiantly, "Just go join the Elites, Seven. You're more one of them than one of us anyway. Bloody, broken and too proud to see yourself for what you actually are!"

It hurts a lot more than I want to admit to hear her say that. I don't argue though, just grab my backpack, and my spear and turn on my heel to leave Brinna's nest. I wasn't going to say anything, but then I find myself turning back to quietly point out, "We aren't as different as I thought."

I can tell that she's not sure if I'm referring to her and I, the Careers and the outliers, or an even broader 'them' and 'us'. That's alright though, because if she isn't sure, then the people who determine when a tribute gets too rebellious to keep breathing won't know either.

* * *

My feet take me away from the cornucopia, towards the river.

It takes me several hours to reach it because I veer through the forest, but when I do, I stick close. I'm going through the motions as I drink my purified water and refill my bottle before robotically scrubbing the remaining dried blood off my hands and out from under my fingernails. It's another stifling hot day and the cool water is nice on my sunburnt face and neck. I spend a bit of time using the water to clean my healing wounds inflicted by the wild dog too. The ones on my stomach took a beating during my tussle with the boy from Ten and one of the stitches Cato put in while I was unconscious has broken. I lightly spread some antiseptic cream on it after thoroughly cleaning it and absent-mindedly pack my supplies away.

What I wouldn't give to be able to talk to Laina right now. Or Glen. They'd listen quietly and then offer some intelligent advice. Tillia would be sympathetic and offer comfort, a hug and a nice hot cup of tea. Fletcher would crack a joke and come up with something stupid and pointless for us to do to make me feel better. Laurel would come up with a problem of her own, give me something that I could fix. Robin would sit next to me, high up above the ground and keep me company for hours and hours on end until I was willing to climb back down to reality. It surprises me that besides my parents, there's another person I wish I could talk to. I sigh loudly as I think about my mentor sitting watching the Games, she's unpredictable so I have no idea what her reactions will be to the last few days, but I'd really like to know.

"I killed someone today Johanna," I say aloud, "I killed him and it was easy. Easy to decide that my life and Brinna's life were worth more than his. I know he wasn't the same kid he used to be… I know I can say I put him out of his misery, but that wasn't what made me do it. I couldn't get him to stop attacking, so I killed him. I couldn't snap him out of it, but did I really try? Should I have tried harder? Should I have died? He was someone's son. Someone's friend. Someone's brother. What makes my life worth more than his?" I snort quietly, "It's not worth more than his. I'm damaged goods. I shouldn't be the one to win this…"

I shake my head and lapse into silence for a moment as I think about the victors of past games. It suddenly strikes me that Johanna Mason was also a bit of a pariah before she won the games. Nobody really knew who she was, and apart from her parents there wasn't really anyone to interview about her. I'd always thought it was part of her strategy, the shy, nobody angle… but by the time it was getting to the end all the viewers had realised what she was actually capable of and it wasn't like interviews were aired in the arena and would blow her cover. I remember how furious it had made me on her behalf that the Careers couldn't remember who was left. They didn't even know what district she was from, let alone her name. Fresh guilt makes bile rise in my throat.

"I don't even know his name," I whisper and bury my face in my hands as I think again about the boy from Ten, "I should know his name. I should know the girl from Three's name. Bien, Glimmer, Marina… They all died because of me."

I wait, but still no tears come. Just a numb hollowness in my chest.

"I should feel worse," I whisper, "Fuck Johanna, I should be curled up in a ball, crying and wishing I was dead. I deserve that. Don't I?" I scoff quietly, "Maybe Brinna was right. I am broken. Broken, bloody and selfish."

"You're not broken."

My heart nearly stops in my chest. In a split second I'm on my feet, defensively lowered in a fighting stance with my spear abandoned and a knife in each hand. There appears to be nobody around, but I refuse to believe I'm going insane. Someone spoke; quietly and weakly, but they spoke never the less . It was male, sure as hell wasn't Cato's, it wasn't Thresh's and I highly doubt it was Marvel's, which means it could only have been one person's. I'm looking for a flash of blonde and eventually I find it, but that's only because he moves slightly.

"Peeta?" I demand incredulously, watching as slowly props himself up, melting away from the rock like he'd become part of it. I remember him spending a lot of time at the camouflage station, but I had no idea he was good enough to literally hide in plain sight.

"Hi Rosilda," he says weakly and a flash of white teeth appears from behind his grey, stone face, "I'm sorry for throwing you into a tree."

"And I thought Cato was the one that looked like he was made of stone," I mumble shaking my head, "Holy shit, I'm such a nut-job," a sightly mortified chuckle escapes my mouth, "I'm more embarrassed you heard me monologuing than I am that the entire country had to listen and I threw a spear at you!"

"Yeah…" Peeta winces, "That hurt."

"So did being thrown into a tree," I counter and slowly, cautiously approach him, "Are you okay?"

"I'm still alive," even Peeta sounds like he's surprised by this.

"How's your leg?" I question a little stiffly.

"Still attached," Peeta he as he struggles to free himself completely of his camouflage.

I hesitate for only a moment, then sheath my knives and go to help him. He can barely lift his arms so I brush dried mud from his hair and face as best I can and push the rocks and fallen leaves off his body, "Did you get stung when the nest fell?"

"Yeah," Peeta gaps in pain as I heave him into a sitting position, "Once, on my ankle. I saw her finish cutting it. I was ready to run and I had my jacket zipped all the way up."

I smirk slightly as I bend down to check it, "If you're going to get stung by a tracker jacker, that's probably the best place for it to happen, but still, I'm sorry."

He frowns, "It wasn't you that dropped the nest-"

"I gave her the idea," I cut him off, meeting his eye for a moment before lifting the hem of his trouser to look at the sting. I lever the barb out with the tip of my knife and put the remainder of my collected leaves on it, which makes him let out a relieved sigh.

I nod with contentment and then get to my feet,

"You're lucky. Not much blood flow down there. Now, let's get you cleaned up. Have you had any parachutes? Or been able to treat any of your wounds?"

Peeta's jaw tightens and he wordlessly shakes his head. I remember Johanna telling me how expensive medicine can be and nod once, before helping him to his feet, "I'm not a breakable girl from the slums of Twelve, Mellark," I scowl at him as he tries to refuse my help, "If I can drag 200 pounds through the forest for three hours I can help you a metre to the river!"

Peeta gives me a look, "I can see you're not a girl from the Seam thanks Rosilda."

I roll my eyes slightly, but can't quite ignore the hint of worry I see in Peeta's eye as he slings an arm around my shoulders and hops for the water. I fetch my backpack and first-aid kit as he sits in the shallows and cleans the mud off his face and neck. I help Peeta out of his jacket and shirt and get started cleaning his arms and chest of mud. It's practically caked to him and it takes a long time, but finally I'm satisfied enough to take a look at his shoulder. He has a nasty burn across his chest too, but I've long since run out of burn ointment and the seeping fluid from his shoulder is more worrying.

"She's okay I think," I finally state, breaking the silence as I assess the wound grimly.

Peeta pauses in his cleaning to look at me and then nods slowly, "And what about _him_?"

My jaw tightens and I look back down at Peeta's shoulder, which is where I hit him with the spear. The wound is dirty from the mud, but I inflicted this hurt on him and I'm determined to do all I can to make it better before I tackle his leg, which I already know will be a much bigger task.

"Who?" I ask in a clipped tone.

"I'm in love with a girl that doesn't love me back Rosilda," Peeta quips with a funny smile on his face, "Don't think I didn't notice you and Cato. You yelling and him publicly acting like a sadistic monster doesn't change the hours he spent teaching you to throw the spear or the way you relaxed slightly whenever he gave a proper laugh. Neither of you could keep your eyes away from the other for long. He defended you more than once before the Games even started, and when they did he refused to even think about going after you until Katniss was gone. You're Clove's favourite way to rile him up. The only thing that gets him riled up actually... you're the chink in his armour.

"I didn't think you noticed anything but Katniss Everdeen," I snap back before I can stop myself. I'm a little disturbed to be described as Cato's only weakness. I doubt he would be very happy to hear it either.

"You'd be surprised," Peeta's smile increases for a moment, then his expression falls, "I'm sorry about Linden and Rue. I know it must've been hard for you."

I freeze in carefully pulling a pice of dried mud out his wound with my tweezers and look down at his face in surprise. I don't know if I'm more surprised that he knows their names or that he knows that I liked Rue.

"I nearly had a heart attack when I lay down on a hammock and saw two girls sitting up in the rafters of the roof," Peeta says knowingly, "Katniss told me she was the one who took the knife and that you got it off her before confronting Cato. She seemed to think you did it just for attention, but I doubt that. You didn't like the attention. Not really, in fact you two aren't all that different. Of course Katniss would never admit that."

"I'll give you a difference," I murmur, resuming my task, "I didn't volunteer to be here."

"You have a younger sister too. Don't pretend you don't understand. Not when you took on Cato to protect a twelve year old girl you'd never spoken to before."

I grudgingly nod in acceptance of this point and then think of another, "Your district clearly loves her - loves both of you - they don't want to see you die. I can promise you my district doesn't feel the same way about me. She's the Girl-On-Fire, I'm the idiot that can't kill the monster that wants to kill me. Who would you be rooting for?"

"I highly doubt Katniss would help Cato in this situation. In fact, I have doubts she'd help me," Peeta smiles without humour, "But then again, she's a complicated person. District loyalty might make her do it for me."

"Linden would have helped anyone in here," I smile softly, then frown, "Literally anyone. It's a big deal that he killed animals! He never would at home, no matter what his parents said or did or how much rubbish he got for it from people at school, he refused to do it."

"Butcher-boy didn't kill animals?" Peeta murmurs with the hint of another smile.

"Lover-boy threw me into a tree. That's not very loving," I point out with a smile reaching for the sterilising fluid.

He laughs slightly and we fall back into silence. It takes me a good half hour to finish cleaning up his shoulder. It's not a clean cut and I'm forced to give Peeta one of my precious pain-killers to keep him quiet enough for me to tackle his thigh. I use the break for the medicine to kick in to forage up some herbal plants and to give him some privacy to take his trousers off. He's too weak to manage the task alone however so I'm forced to silently help undress him when I return. Now able to reach his thigh and see it clearly, I'm glad for the extra herbal remedies I've found. Willow-bark will help with his fever and some sage, cat-nip and red clover should help with infection and inflammation.

Peeta doesn't complain about the taste and texture of the bark I give him to chew, but his face drains of all colour when I begin to clean his leg. It's a terrible wound and is clearly already infected, but I do my best. I clean it thoroughly with water and then some of my dwindling sterile fluid before spreading a generous amount of my natural slave onto his shoulder and packing his thigh with the same. I wrap a clean bandage around his leg and secure a gauze over his shoulder, then sit back on my heels and begin to pack away my things.

"You need to do your best to keep those clean and dry," I tell Peeta as I begin sorting through my supplies, "I think your shoulder will be fine now, but your leg…" I shake my head, "Look, just try and keep it clean and hopefully it'll be alright. I did my best, but I'm no doctor. Keep chewing the bark every few hours," I indicate the strips I've left him, "and drink as much water as you can handle, even if you're not hungry, water is important."

I place my half full bag of nuts and seeds - the last of the food found in my backpack - next to the bark and then stand up. I can feel Peeta's eyes on me, but I studiously ignore him, tugging my hair free of my backpack and going to retrieve me spear.

"He likes you, you know."

I pause, but don't turn back.

"His mentors wanted you in the Alliance. He just wanted to keep you safe for as long as possible. Nearly killed Marvel for some of the things he said he wanted to do to you. He's complicated too, but I'm sure you know that."

"He's in this to win," I say, "Just like her. Does anything else matter?"

"Of course it matters," there's amusement in Peeta's voice, "It matters that he really does care about you because it might change the way you choose to live the rest of your life. That's important to you, right? Not just life, but they way you live it?"

He's right. That is important to me. I'd almost forgotten.

"She would have helped you," I say instead, looking over my shoulder at him, "I know she would have helped you. You mean something to her. Helping the people who mean something to her must be important or else she never would have volunteered. She would have helped you."

Peeta gives me another lopsided smile, "But instead, you helped me. _You_ don't owe me anything. You could have killed me, you could have walked away, but you didn't."

"No," I agree, "I didn't."

"Someone who was 'broken, bloody and selfish' wouldn't have helped me."

I small smile finds its way to my face, "Thank you Peeta.

"I think I should be the one saying that," he grins, "thank you Rosilda."

I nod and once again go to keep walking away, but he stops me again, "Do you really think he's a monster? Cato, I mean."

I pause, but this time I don't look back. I don't want him to see the expression on my face. I've called Cato a monster more than once and at one point I definitely meant it. I'm realising though that I'm not the only person that can put on a mask and portray myself as something different from what I actually am. At first it seemed as though Cato was bipolar or suffered from multiple personalities. Now though, I understand a little better and it seems impossible to me that the same man that held me in his arms, that kissed me and cared for me when I was hurt, could take such pleasure in watching the blood drain out of my body. It seems to me that Cato walks a similar line to the one I often find myself on. The one where you have to cling to who you are with every single ounce of strength or you'll be swept away and become the thing they tried to create.

Brinna was right. I am a little broken; untrusting and scared to be hurt, to be seen as weak. Cato's been trained to be a remorseless killer his whole life. They tried to turn him into a monster and maybe they almost succeeded… only I've seen proof that they haven't quite been able to destroy the person behind the Career and that gives me selfish hope.

"I think maybe he's a little bit broken too," I answer quietly, "but I have to believe that we don't stay broken forever. There's good in everyone, no matter how hard some try to hide or destroy it. I think someone tried very hard to destroy his and I'm not sure they succeeded as well as they think they did."

Peeta doesn't reply and I don't look back as I slink away from the sunshine into the shadows of the forest.

* * *

The sun is low in the sky when a sudden explosion shakes the very foundations of the arena. The branch I am perched on shakes so violently it is only my quick reflexes that stop me from tumbling to the forest floor a hundred feet below. It takes me only a few seconds to climb the huge tree high enough to see more than just the smoke.

What I see doesn't exactly surprise me. I knew what had happened immediately.

Someone else has decided to take the odds into their own hands.

Someone else has decided to play Gamemaker and change the course of the 74th Hunger Games.

"There's another difference for you," I whisper out to the smoke.

I'm under no delusions as to who did it. Brianna may have helped, but she was right about one thing, only the Girl-On-Fire could have actually shot the arrow.

"There's going to be consequences for that Katniss Everdeen and I don't think you stopped to wonder what they'd be."

I'm not really surprised when a cannon goes off only a few minutes later.

"Goodbye District Three," I murmur, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back against the trunk of the tree. _I'm glad he made it quick._

* * *

 _ **Wow... I feel like that was quite an intense chapter! Hopefully I didn't pack too much content into it... I want the pace to pick up, but not to the point where things feel rushed!**_

 _ **What do you guys think of Rose and Brinna's argument? Do you think their alliance is really over? Are you surprised or disappointed they didn't blow up the supplies? Or glad that I still allowed Katniss to have that victory? And what about Peeta? Are you surprised she helped him? Do you think this will change anything?**_

 _ **This might be the first chapter (aside from the first) that Cato hasn't been in... any thoughts on that?**_

 _ **I would love to hear what you guys think!**_

 _ **Thank you so much! DFTBA!**_

 _ **-xx**_


	22. Chapter 22

*** Chapter Twenty-Two ***

I move closer to the cornucopia the next morning. I'm ready for these Games to be over.

There's eight of us left now, which means that they'll be interviewing our families today. If I know anything about my family, it'll be Father, Laina and Fletcher that will handle it. They'll want at least one parent there and I doubt my mother will be up for it. I'm not sure at what stage of the Games Aunt Alaina was killed, but I know with every passing day the memory of my mother's fresh grief will be growing. Laina will be needed at the interview to put on a smile and give the Capitol something to 'ooh' and 'aah' over. Beautiful Laina and her adorable daughter will be exactly how my family tries to shield Felicity from the cameras. Nothing the Capitol would like more than a good shot of my heavily pregnant sister-in-law to add to my sob-story.

Fletcher will go because he'll see it as his duty; to me and to the rest of the family. The way Fletcher will see it, Glen needs to stay with his wife and the twins are too young. No doubt Tillia will be trying to hold down the fort, keep everyone eating and sleeping and worrying herself into the ground. She'll agree that Laurel and Rob shouldn't have to deal with pushy reporters... and my little sister could well be as much of a mess as our mother. Fletcher might be reckless and hot-headed, but he's almost as charming as Finnick Odair. He knows how to talk his way out of anything, and I know he'll do everything he can to help me. Even if it means he has to lick the boots of the Capitol he resents so much.

I'd give anything to talk to Fletcher. I miss them all so much that it aches deep in my chest. It's the knowledge that giving up would hurt them the most that motivates me to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

As I walk through the forest, I concentrate on the little things; falling into the habit I developed the last time I desperately needed things to live for. I find the things that prove life is still beautiful; the things right in front of me. The sunlight filtering through the leaves. The smell of the forest. The backpack that's still on my back. The things that I don't want to die without experiencing again. The view from the top of my tree as the sun rises; mist shrouding the trees and orange bleeding into the exquisite shade of grey-blue sky at dawn. The look my father gives my mother when she's not watching. Willow's innocent, gurgling laugh as she hides behind Laina's skirts. Fletcher's crooked grin as he messes up my hair. The feeling of waking up with someone's arms around me.

I'm not ready to give those things up, so I keep my spear held at the ready and my knife easily accessible as I walk. My eyes are kept searching and ears pricked as I find myself a meagre meal of nuts and roots. The gnawing hunger is becoming familiar. Getting a proper meal once every couple of days just isn't enough, but it's not a new experience, so I grimly keep my eyes peeled for anything edible. I catch myself another rabbit about midday, but once again my aim is slightly off and most of the meat is spoilt. I'm hungry enough that I pick every edible morsel off the bones and add some water and herbs to my pot. I'm much more alert this time with my fire, standing tense and completely frozen against a tree a few metres away until I'm sure I won't get rabbit fever — just another reason why I don't like eating rabbit — and then quickly put out my fire and retreat a few minutes away before I eat.

I judge myself to only be about an hour from the cornucopia and have started looking for a good place to set up camp when I hear it. It's faint, but none the less it's a scream. I'm alert at once and running through the tributes still left in my head as I carefully turn in the direction it came from and move cautiously closer. Almost a minute goes passed, but then I hear the scream again. Slightly louder now and definitely female. Young and desperately female. Clove wouldn't scream and I doubt the Girl-On-Fire would either. My blood runs cold as I realise I've heard that scream before. _Brinna?_

I increase my pace, caring less about moving silently and more about how fast I'm going.

"Rose!"

I take off at a dead sprint, "Brinna!"

"Rose! Help! Please!"

Johanna's rules about not recklessly running into situations fly out of my head. Her mantra about heroes not winning the Games doesn't even occur to me. All I know is that one of the _only_ friends I have is in danger and needs my help. It does occur to me that her screams won't have just caught my attention and I tighten my hold on my spear as I run.

"Help me!"

I veer slightly to the right in answer and finally crash into a clearing. My heart stops when I see Brinna caught in a similar trap to the one I accidentally got myself stuck in. She dangles from her ankle, face almost purple and eyes wide and desperate. I imagine I looked much the same. The difference is that Brinna is held much higher off the ground in a much crueller trap. Blood soaks her trouser leg and it looks like specially barbed wire has been used. This is a people trap, not a hunting snare.

"Rose," there's relief in her voice and I can see that there's tears pouring down her red face, "Rose, help me!"

"Hold on!" I tell her, casting aside my backpack and racing to her side, "I'll get you down, just don't move or you'll hurt yourself more!"

She's frantic and doesn't stop struggling, which only stains her trouser a deeper crimson, so I clasp her face between my hands and hold her tight, forcing her to meet my eye, "It's going to be okay Brinna," I promise, "I'll get you down, but you have to stay calm. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," she sobs, firmly pressing her lips together and wiping her eyes to try and stop the tears.

"Okay," I step away from her to follow the line of wire up to its source, "It's going to alright."

I place my spear on the ground and hurry over to the tree she's hung from. My heart is pounding and my hands shake slightly, but it's easy to climb to the point where she's caught. I'm already beginning to relax and I've just drawn my knife to saw through the wire when Brinna suddenly releases a terrified gasp.

It's the only warning before a spear — much larger than my own — impales her through the stomach.

I have to be about ten feet above the ground, but when I hear the laugh bubble from the mouth of the boy from District One I launch myself out of the tree with a angry roar. He didn't see me coming and I land on top of him. My knife is in my hand the instant we hit the ground and it's impaled in his throat only a moment later. He barely had time to stop laughing.

"Brinna!"

Without a second glance at Marvel I race to her side. She's still alive and blinks blearily, her hand reaching out to me desperately. If I thought I climbed the tree fast before, it's nothing to how fast I climb it now to cut her down. She hits the ground hard and we both cry out. Once again I jump from the branch and this time I jar my ankle badly, though I barely notice as I limp to her side.

"Rose," she whispers, her hands going to the spear, "It's okay."

"No!" I grab her hands in mine to stop her from pulling it out.

"You can't do anything Rose," she says a tear seeping from the corner of her eye as she reaches to touch my cheek with one cold, shaky hand, "It's okay."

I know that she's right. There's too much blood. Blood from her mangled ankle and blood from the spear sticking out of her stomach. A cannon goes off and my breath catches, but Brinna turns her head to look at Marvel's body and my hammering pulse eases slightly. I take a long deep breath and shift slightly so that her head is resting in my lap and I'm holding her hand tightly in mine.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice shaking and wetness seeping from my eyes, "I'm so sorry. I should have been faster. I was too slow. I'm sorry."

"It's _not_ your fault!" the fact Brinna still manages to sound condescending and imperious as she bleeds out makes me release a choked laugh.

"I shouldn't have left," I whisper, "We could have had an alliance-"

Brinna smiles slightly, "I know why you said no Rose. It's okay… maybe it's too late for us… but there's someone else that really wants you on his side."

A choked sob escapes my mouth, "Brinna… you don't like him at all—"

"But you do," she closes her eyes and swallows thickly, "You're an idiot Rose, but this is bordering on stupid. You're not stupid. You must have…" she coughs painfully, "figured out why you can't kill him?"

I want to tell her not to waste her strength, but her amber eyes flash open and she narrows them determinedly at me, "Don't die before you can at least tell him that you're falling in love with him! That would be idiotic _and_ pathetic."

"Shh," I squeeze her hand and brush some hair off her face, "Save your strength."

"So I can use it to do what?" she asks, though it comes out choked and tears start to flow harder, "Memorise some more useless information before I die?"

Recognising that she was trying to distract herself, I squeeze her hand, "You are very good at that—"

"How do you do it?" the annoyance is gone from her voice and instead she sounds desperate as she cuts me off, "How do you hold it together? I'm trying, I'm trying so hard to be strong…"

"You are strong," I say shakily, but nod adamantly at her as I try to blink past the tears streaming down my cheeks, "You know exactly who you are and what you want and you aren't afraid to fight for it. You succeeded in your angle… nobody could remember who else was left, the Careers never will have known you stole from them… you're brave, and so smart, and beautiful inside and out, and so, so strong Brinna."

"But how do you do it?" there's an urgency in her voice that tells me she needs an answer, a proper answer.

I hesitate for a moment then I tell her, "I find the little things that I want to keep living for."

"Little things?"

"Like the feel of the sun on my face, the sound of my niece's laughter, or the smell of fresh bread. I find the little things and I notice them."

"Like… the sound of typing on a keyboard?"

I only vaguely know what she's talking about, but I nod anyway, "And ducklings playing in the river and the crisp freshness in the air just after it's rained."

Brinna smiles and closes her eyes, "Tell me more," she requests, "Please."

I hesitate, but I can see the colour in her face fading and her grip on my hand is getting weaker and weaker, "Like drinking the perfect cup of tea. Climbing a tree just to look up at the stars. The smell of old books—"

Brinna makes a soft noise of agreement, which gives me the courage to continue.

"A cat purring. The smell of pine needles. Mist in the early morning and... the sun rising over the trees. Singing when it doesn't matter or dancing when nobody's watching. Being complimented on something that matters. Laughing. Waking up to find you're being held in someone's arms. Having an actual friend—"

It's at this point that I can't keep it together anymore. A sob escapes my lips as I realise Brinna's chest is no longer fluttering and I can no longer hear her fighting for breath. The cannon sounds a moment later and a strangled cry comes from my mouth.

 _She's gone._

When a hand falls on my shoulder, I only look up with glazed and watery eyes. If they've come to kill me, I don't think I care anymore. When I see the piercing blue eyes and angular face my heart only breaks a little more. For a moment I just stare at Cato, waiting for him to draw his sword, but then he slowly sinks to his knees beside me.

"Rose," he whispers and sounds so broken, so in pain that I sob harder and don't resist at allwhen he carefully draws me away from Brinna and into his lap.

He holds me tightly, rocking me back and forward and whispering in my ear over and over again that she's in a better place, that she's happy and that she'd want me to keep going. I know the Capitol will want to collect both her and Marvel's body, but I don't want to move and Cato doesn't ask me to. Finally, I manage to stop the gasping sobs and then the tears. I'm still shaking though when I slowly lift my head off Cato's chest and turn back to look at the body of my friend. With shaky hands I reach to brush her hair off her face and to lay her hands down gently. When I make to grab the spear, Cato grabs my hand.

"Let me," he says and his eyes are so gentle that I nod once and look away as he pulls the bloody weapon from her body.

I hear the sound of a zipper and when I look back he's zipped her jacket up to hide the wound and moved her legs to a more natural position.

"You were so much smarter than I gave you credit for," he says in a low voice, bowing his head, "A true competitor. I'm sorry for not respecting you as I should have."

My throat is too dry for me to speak, so instead I bend over and kiss Brinna's forehead and then straighten up and kiss my hand, lifting it up to the sky in the same way I farewelled Rue and Linden. Cato moves to stand behind me and his presence steadies my swaying body, he rests his chin on top of my head for a moment, then presses a kiss to my hair and moves away. I can't bring myself to look and watch him go, so instead I gaze down at Brinna. She has a slight smile on her face and it eases the ache in my chest a little to know that I could help make her passing easier.

When I hear another zip being pulled behind me, I do turn. I had expected Cato to walk out of the clearing and to pretend he'd never been there. Instead I see that he's removed the bloody knife — my bloody knife — from Marvel's body and has zipped his jacket up too. He straightens and turns away, moving back towards me. I meet his gaze hesitantly wondering if I'll see accusation or anger there. I killed someone. I was a murderer. And not just anyone either. Marvel was his ally and I killed him.

Instead all I see is acceptance and he wraps an arm around my shoulders pulling me against him. I can't help but look down at Marvel's face. Cato has closed his eyes, but the shock can't quite be covered up. He hadn't seen me coming. I find my hand coming to my lips again and I kiss it gently, bowing my head and holding it - not up at the sky - but out to his body. An act of peace coming way too late.

"Rose," Cato says after a moment and I know he's reminding me we should move.

I can't though. I feel like I haven't said goodbye.

One look at Brinna has my throat closing up once more, so instead I stride to the tree I climbed twice to try and save her life. Cato shadows me, but he doesn't try to stop me as I pull out my second knife and press it to the bark of the tree: _Brinna - A true ally._

A part of me feels I should do something for Marvel too and I move to another tree. A smaller tree. For a moment my knife is poised, but I can't quite get it to move. I can't quite bring myself to carve the name of Brinna's killer into the tree the same way I did hers.

"Cato," I whisper, my voice is hoarse and croaky, but he's at my side at once, "Please?"

I look up at him and press the knife into his hand. For a moment I don't think Cato will do it, then his eyes soften, "You never stop surprising me," he whispers, taking the knife and holding my gaze for a moment before turning to the tree.

I don't look to see what Cato writes. I move back to the tree I've carved Brinna's name against and rest my forehead against it, my eyes tightly shut, listening to the quiet scratch of the carving. When the sound stops, I hear Cato's quiet footsteps move closer to me and then stop. With a deep breath I step away and look up at him. He's got my backpack slung over his back and offers me his hand hesitantly.

Swallowing thickly, I brush my hand over my eyes, sniff once and then reach to take his hand. I don't look back as he leads me from the clearing, but a tear escapes my eye and I hold my head high. I want the Capitol to see at least one of the tears their Games causes. I want them to mourn Brinna. I want them to realise she was a human being. A fifteen year old girl that had family waiting for her back home and didn't deserve to die for their entertainment.

I want them to feel some of the pain they've caused.

 **...**

"You have no idea how I felt when I saw you were okay."

I look up at Cato in surprise. We haven't exchanged any words since leaving the bodies, we didn't pause to look back at the hovercrafts and we've been walking in silence for at least half an hour. Now though, Cato stops. He shrugs my backpack off his shoulder and steps close to me to catch my face between his hands. Our eyes meet and I am momentarily stunned by the amount of emotion swirling in the normally icy blue. "When I heard those screams and then the cannon… I thought I was too late."

He thought it was me. He thought he would be the one that was too late.

"And then I heard your voice," he stares at me intently, as if he's memorising my face, "I'm selfish Rose. I was so glad it wasn't you. I don't know what I would have done if…"

His jaw tightens and then his mouth is colliding with mine. His hands don't move from my face, cradling it gently - as if I'm made of glass. My hands automatically rise to caress his face in the same way. It's a gentle kiss, but I can feel the emotion in it; the need to hold me and reassure himself I'm real and solid and not a ghost. He kisses me like he's scared I'm about to turn to mist and slip away, like if he clings too tight it will be him who breaks me. I can feel what he's trying to say and the warmth fills the gaping hole that seemed to have widened in my chest.

"I know I'd be lost without you," I whisper, separating our lips and brushing my nose against his, "I… Cato…"

He quietens me with another kiss, letting go of my face to wrap his arms around my waist and hold me tightly, "That cannon yesterday morning… I thought… and then today…"

"I'm okay," I try to reassure him, but he only holds me tighter, burying his face in my hair and pushing mine into his chest. It reminds me of the warmth and safety; of waking up in his arms, and once again my senses are overwhelmed with his touch, smell and the sound of his steady heartbeat. Suddenly, it feels like maybe the pieces inside me that have started coming apart, might not be so fragile after all. My arms tighten and his embrace squeezes more in response. I'm not sure how long we stand, holding each other together, and I don't know how long we would have stood there if the anthem hadn't started and the trumpets hadn't sounded. If anything we hold each other tighter when the Capitol seal first appears. I don't want to look up and see the face of another tribute I've killed. I don't want to look up and see the face of my friend. It's only when the booming of trumpets sounds that Cato and I split apart.

An announcement? Now? It doesn't seem like the right time for a feast, but I can't think of any other possible announcement.

Claudius Templesmith congratulates us on making the final six - something I hadn't even thought about until then - and then announces that there has been a rule change.

"You've got to be joking," Cato mutters.

The irony is amusing, because as far as I know the only rule in the Games is that you don't step off your plate before the first sixty seconds, but something makes me slip my hand into Cato's; a sense of foreboding.

Under this new rule, two tributes can be crowned as victors if they are male and female. Cato's grip on my hand tightens to the point of painful, but I can only stare up at the sky in complete disbelief. As if sensing that we don't understand, Templesmith pauses and then repeats the announcement.

A male and female tribute can win the Games.

 _We could win. Both of us could live._

In complete jubilation I throw my arms around Cato's neck with a happy cry. He grins broadly back at me and for a moment everything is so perfect I want to freeze time right there, then abruptly the smile turns to horror. His arms around my waist tighten and he simply stares at me, torment clear on every inch of his face.

"Clove," he whispers, his face draining of colour. My eyes close and my grip around his neck loosens. Slowly I release him and go to step back, but he hasn't let go of me. I open my eyes and find that he's staring at me with tortured eyes, "Rose… I can't…"

I lift my chin and rise on my toes to place a gentle kiss on his cheekbone, "I would never ask you to," I whisper, staring into his eyes and hoping that I won't forget the exact crystal hue they are, "she's your district partner. You should go and find her."

He stares at me for a long moment and this time when I pull away he lets go. I take two steps back and force a smile to my face, "I hope the odds are in your favour Cato."

He simply stares at me as I bend down to pick up my backpack, but as I turn to leave, swinging the bag over my shoulder, he lets out a little growl. The bag is pulled from my hands and my legs are swept out from underneath me. My back collides roughly with the trunk of a tree, but my gasp is muffled by his lips . This kiss is hungry and needy. It's filled with pain and heartbreak. I don't want to let him go but when I muster my resolve to turn my mouth away from his he simply kisses his way to my neck instead. He claims every inch of exposed skin as his own and fixes me with a gaze that borders on worshipful as I pull his lips back to mine. He kisses me like I'm oxygen and he's drowning and I cling to him like he's my lifeline. Except he's not. He's can't be mine.

"You don't have to go," he says forehead resting against mine, it's the closest to pleading I've ever heard him sound, "They wouldn't stand a chance against the three of us."

"Exactly," I whisper, smiling at him and brushing my hand over his cheek, "The three of us would stand there at the end and no matter what happened you'd be haunted by the choice you made. I won't let you make the choice. I'm making it; I'm walking away Cato."

"I really wish you'd stop doing that. All you seem to do is walk away from me."

"Maybe one day I'll stop," I laugh slightly and brush some moisture off my cheeks with the back of my hand, determined to smile through the pain that's trying to break my heart.

"You just like that I have to chase after you," he attempts a smirk.

I rise up on my toes to breathe in his ear, "You like that about me too, or else you'd have stopped chasing."

"I just like the view of your arse," he mocks right back.

I scoff at him and slide out from between his arms and the trunk of the tree, "Goodbye Cato."

This time he doesn't stop me as I bend and pick up my backpack. Despite the deliberate, playful swing I put in my hips and his burning gaze on me, this time he lets me walk away.

 **...**

 **So... I cried writing this chapter... then again editing it. Hopefully you feel like I've done justice to Brinna and I'd love to know what you think of the rule change! It's probably not a surprise that I deviated slightly from canon there, but what about Rose's decision? Did you remember Clove at first?**

 **Any feedback is good feedback! I really, really value everyone who reviews, so huge thank you to all those of you that have done so in the past!**

 **Thank you for reading and I really hope everyone is enjoying this story! Even if I am shamefully slow at updating it... I promise I'll try and do better!**

 **-xx**


	23. Chapter 23

*** Chapter Twenty-Three ***

I shouldn't really be surprised when I find myself sprinting back the way I've come with a pack of vicious mutts snapping at my heels.

The Gamemakers aren't exactly going to just let me hole up in a corner of the arena! They want the drama they've started to play out. We are characters in their twisted story, they've set the scene and now we're supposed to dance to their sadistic tune. The brokenhearted girl isn't allowed to wallow in self-pity. She either has to die, or she has to pull her weight in keeping things interesting. Seeing as I'm not just going to stand there and let myself be mauled by another wild dog, much less a pack of them, my only option is to run.

Yesterday was definitely rivalling others in being the worst day of my life. On top of everything that had happened, I'd made one fatal, stupid and completely sickening error: I hadn't picked up my spear. I hadn't picked up my knives. I hadn't picked up any of my weapons.

My mistake saw me having no choice but to turn tail and try to outrun an animal that was built to run faster than it's prey. The fact that I haven't felt strong jaws clamp down on the backs of my legs yet, tells me that this is exactly what the Capitol wants. They don't want me to be killed by a mutt, they want me to run right back into the hornets' nest. My chest is tight and painful as I heave for breath. The gashes on my stomach from my last encounter with a wild dog are burning with reminder, my ankle throbs from twisting it jumping from the tree the day before, and the wound on my thigh from the burning branch had started bothering me again ten minutes ago.

My body is starting to break. The physical effects of the constant state of terror, the many injuries I've suffered, the fact that my diet has been increasingly sparse and my sleep sporadic means that I am close to exhaustion. I may be better at endurance than sprints, but I can't keep going at this pace for much longer. The fact that in the last thirty minutes I have probably reversed half a days walk didn't exactly thrill me either. Neither does the fact that I am becoming increasingly aware of exactly which direction the three mangy mutts are herding me. Straight towards the wheat field where Thresh had been hiding out all games.

There are six of us left. Three females and three males. District Two. District Twelve. Myself and Thresh. The Capitol isn't content with making Cato choose, they are forcing me to face the fact that I have a choice to make too. Will I team up with Eleven to take down the other pairs? How far will I go to survive? How far will I go to make sure that I am one of the lucky ones that gets to go home?

Not this far.

If surviving means that I have to hang around hoping Clove dies, or actively plan it, I'm done. I can't do it. I refuse to let the Capitol turn me into a selfish monster. I'm not going to kill Cato… or Clove. I'm not going to let them force me into that .

Besides, I am pragmatic enough to know that I won't be welcomed by Thresh. He didn't trust me before, much less now when his district partner is indeed dead. There is then the fact that I have absolutely nothing to offer him. He can obviously feed himself, he clearly has a water source and he's still alive. Without weapons, I am next to useless. Hand to hand combat may be my favoured method of combat, but so far, these Games haven't been fought in situations that allow me that advantage. Katniss and Clove have distance weapons, I don't think I could kill Cato, and won't let the Capitol force me to, and even so - the three strongest male tributes are left. I'm not confident enough in my own abilities to believe I can take them down - not bare handed when I'm handicapped with injuries and exhaustion.

When I spot the low branch, I don't hesitate. Spurred by hope-fuelled adrenaline I clamber up the tree, narrowly avoiding having my swinging leg chomped on, by accidentally swinging out at just the right time to kick one of the dogs hard on the nose. By the time it has recovered and the others have regrouped I am safely up the tree and gasping for breath.

The dogs mill around uncertainly for a moment, then in unnatural synchronisation they sit down on their haunches in a perfect line. All three's eyes are fixed on me and they don't look like they will be moving anytime soon. I spend the next hour investigating every possible avenue of escape, but jumping to the next tree over is impossible and there is no chance of these unnatural killing-machines being distracted the way a normal dog might.

As I stare moodily down at the unblinking dogs the seed of an idea starts to form.

"So, Seneca Crane," I say out loud, lifting my chin and looking around with a carefully blank face, "I hope you'll allow me to express my congratulations to you," I force myself to let the tension slowly leave my body and to gradually start to smile, "no Gamemaker has ever attempted something like this before. You've certainly managed to completely change the game and, as I'm sitting here, it's occurring to me that I have definitely drawn the short straw."

I let out a girlish peal of laughter, clasping my shaking hands tightly together. I am gambling desperately here. I'm not foolish enough to believe that I _actually matter_ to the Capitol, I am easily wiped out and forgotten; completely replaceable. I have nothing, there is no reason for anyone to listen. The thing is, I quite literally have nowhere else to turn. I am stuck in a tree with only half a bottle of water and a tiny handful of nuts. I have no weapons, no allies and I'm not ready to die quite just yet. I am backed into a corner and the _only_ thing I have left is the knowledge that the head Gamemaker is heavily invested in making these games as exciting as possible, and had seemed to quite like me. I am desperate enough not to care that this liking is probably due to my appearance.

In my experience, powerful men like to be complimented. They like others to recognise and submit to the power they had over them; to acknowledge their superiority. The last thing I have - the last thing I have that I am willing to gamble - is my pride.

"It's a very different spin you've put on things," I let my voice become light, praying that it isn't obvious what I am doing as I let out another airy laugh, "they told us to keep our emotions out of these Games, but that's lot harder to do in practice. You've just upped the stakes even more. It's clever and I'm very impressed. You got me hook, line and sinker…"

On the ground one of the dogs tilts it's head to the side, it's lips no longer pulled back into a silent snarl.

"Without weapons I'm as good as dead," I muse, curling a strand of hair around my finger, "Thresh doesn't like me very much and he'd sooner snap my neck than team up with me if I couldn't offer him anything besides my stellar company… of course," I sigh heavily, "at this rate, it's not looking good for any of us. Peeta's leg…" I contort my expression into one of doubt and shake my head mournfully, "unless The-Girl-On-Fire has really managed to put on a show, there's no way they can afford the medicine he needs. I did my best, but sepsis was already setting in. How loyal do we think Fire-Girl really is?"

I let this hang in the air for a moment. No doubt everyone is reflecting on how she volunteered for her sister… then unleashed a whole tracker jacker nest on a group of people that included Peeta and turned on me the moment we weren't stuck in the same tree. Is she loyal to anyone besides her family?

"Of course," I continue, "Katniss Everdeen is a problem all on her own. If she's really good enough with those arrows to deserve an eleven then what chance do any of us have without armour? Clove and Cato might be able to get the better of her together, but Thresh doesn't have a chance. He won't be able to sneak up on her and he's too big of a target for her to miss him completely. Same for Cato, but if him and Clove were working together, my money wouldn't be on Twelve.

"This is the way I see this going," I say conversationally, "I'm going to die somewhere off in the corner. Maybe up here of dehydration or starvation, or perhaps down there so the dogs get a good meal. Peeta will die of infection within the week," my voice becomes cool, emotionless and steady.

"If you count both from Twelve out until then, I'm willing to bet the Careers will have eliminated Thresh by then too. Now you've got Clove and Cato facing Katniss and her arrows. That might be a finale worth the anti-climatic and drawn-out lead up… or it might end with Katniss up a tree, leisurely aiming and picking off each Career with a single arrow."

I pause to let that sink in, "such a shame, don't you think?" I lament, "you've got your players Mr Crane and you've got the beginnings for a story that could revolutionise this entire event. All you need to do is add in a few more props… I'd really hate to see everything go to waste. After all," I can't quite resist a final barbed jab, though I deliver it sweetly, with a coy smile, "eighteen _children_ are already dead." 

**...**

After a couple of hours the adrenaline fades and exhaustion allows me to nap fitfully for a while. Although I have tried to huddle in the patches of shade, the afternoon sun has baked my pale skin. My ragged shirt is tied around my head in an attempt to protect my face from it's heat and I've carefully propped my backpack above me to shade my shoulders and chest. I had been watching the couple of inches of skin on my exposed torso go redder and redder while trying to preserve the water I had left. Down below me the dogs have lain down. Their eyes were still alert and fixed on me, but their heads rested on their paws and if I didn't have the bandages still covering the wounds on my stomach as a reminder, I might have thought they looked rather harmless.

So far, it seems my plan has failed spectacularly. The fact that I am still alive and haven't been shaken from the tree to the vicious mutts below by Gamemaker intervention gives me a little hope, but certainly not much. I have come to the conclusion however that I am playing a waiting game. It isn't up to me to make the next move, I've had my share of the spotlight and now I am going to sit back and give everyone some time to sort themselves out.

It doesn't exactly thrill me that I am being given time to think. Thinking isn't something I want to do. Thoughts of home, of my family and of Cato are bittersweet and make a lump appear in my throat. It is pure stubborn pride that I will not die of dehydration that helps me not to cry.

Thinking about the last few days has a similar effect as it brings me to thinking about Brinna… and Peeta…. and then Brinna again. I don't know how to feel about my interaction with Peeta… I had considered at the time that the kindness might do something to redeem my soul after tainting it with murder, but now? Now that the rules have changed I am worried that my act of kindness could have done more for Peeta than I thought. I'm worried that he's faring better than I expect… I'm worried that my actions could see me and Cato die, in separate places, but both with arrows in our bodies. What if my actions mean that Peeta is strong enough to fight? If that is the case I will almost certainly die and I'll probably die with post-mortem responsibility for the death of the boy I am falling hopelessly in… something with.

Thinking about the future doesn't work either. After my last desperate plea to Crane, I am out of options. Thinking about the future is a one-way track towards despair, giving up and death. I'm not quite ready to accept that inevitability just yet.

I never thought that boredom would be a factor almost as bad as infection in the Hunger Games, but it is; mind-numbing boredom to mind-numbing fear and bucket-loads of adrenaline suddenly flooding your system in one single second. That is a killer as much as everything else.

I huddle in my patches of shade, twisting my ring around my finger and trying not to think as my pale skin burns under a sun that probably isn't real, but is instead just another trick of the Capitol. Just another thing they have power over: mother nature herself.

When the anthem finally comes, bringing with it darkness, I force my sweltering body into my sleeping bag, knowing that within the hour, my sweat will be freezing against my skin and my fingers will be aching to the point where I'll wonder if them falling off would be a blessing.

 **...**

I awake to a parachute landing right on my stomach.

It stuns me for a moment, because I honestly can't believe anyone would still be sponsoring me, but when I look down and see that at some point in the night the three wild dogs have disappeared, I almost fall out of the tree. I thought I was done for, but this looks an awful lot like someone is trying to pull me back into the game.

Johanna's message leaves me with more questions than answers: _Chin up Thorns! The trident maple and poplar trees are watching over you!_

Maybe she's officially lost it?

I shoot an incredulous look up at the sky, "Come on Mason, I know you've been living in luxury for the last few years, but surely you haven't completely forgotten what sort of lumber—"

I cut myself off, staring back down at the paper. We might learn an awful lot about trees in school at District Seven, but that doesn't mean I remember everything. I definitely know enough to be confident that there are certainly no maple trees with the distinctive red leaves of the Trident Maple, or any poplar in District Seven. The maple wouldn't survive the winter and we want good lumber so the poplar has no place in our district either.

"Mother of elm," I mutter, trying to cast my mind back to lessons I received when I was much younger.

Where do those trees grow? The maple doesn't like frost and it isn't hardy enough for costal weather either. It would grow somewhere warm. As for the poplar… the maple is at least pretty, the poplar is a little boring. But then again… hadn't I heard it talked about somewhere recently? Was it when I was talking about trees with Linden? No…

Who else did I talk about trees with?

The memory suddenly hits me, Brinna's face in the training centre as she asks me why I like a birds-eye-view. I said I was used to being up trees and she said Five didn't have many trees except for… _poplars and scraggly bushes_.

The warmest district besides District Four has to be Eleven… is Johanna trying to tell me that Districts Five and Eleven are supporting me? What does that even mean? If she wants me to team up with Thresh she would have come right out and said it, wouldn't she?

District Five and District Eleven…

Hoping the message will make more sense once I open whatever she's sent me, I reach for the container. Inside is a ruby red, juicy looking apple and a white, square bread roll the size of my closed fist. If I doubted that she meant Five and Eleven, the doubt vanishes as I pick up the apple and stare at it intently. The only time I've ever had an apple before was in the Capitol; and District Seven's bread was certainly not so refined or so square. Brinna however, strikes me as someone who could have come from a district with square bread. I frown and pick up Johanna's note again, doing my best to read between the lines: _Don't give up Rose! Districts Five and Eleven are watching over you?_

Maybe she's trying to tell me that the 'sponsor gift' hasn't come from the traditional Capitol sponsors? Could she be telling me that this gift comes right from the Districts? I didn't even know that was possible? Then again, if she took the trouble to code her message, maybe it wasn't supposed to be possible.

"Thank you," I say forcefully, looking from the food to the brightening sky, "thank you for not giving up on me."

At this point I'm not even sure who I'm talking to. I do know that I'm grateful for the food though and it takes great restraint to tear the bread roll in half. Rationing food is odd. It seems like an easy thing to do in principle. I remember doing it all the time when things got particularly bad at home. If you wanted breakfast the next morning, you didn't eat all your dinner. It was as simple as that. Only it wasn't. When you were so hungry that you could barely muster the energy to sit up, when the gnawing hunger became the only constant in your life besides the weakness, nausea and exhaustion, not eating food in front of you was a terrible, terrible battle. The first half of the bread is gone within half a minute. I inhaled it, so hungry that I didn't pause to savour a single moment. I knew it tasted good and I knew I wanted more. It would be so easy to eat the second half of bread or the apple too. My rumbling stomach growls agreement.

 _Toughen up Rose._

With self-restraint that I internally marvel at, I carefully tuck the apple and bread into my backpack and take a tiny mouthful of water to try and soothe my swollen, parched throat. There's barely a mouthful left, but I lost track of where I was yesterday. I don't know where the nearest water source is. Until my bottle is completely empty, I'm not dead. 

**...**

In many ways this day is the worst of my entire Games. I'm stuck in limbo. In more ways than one. I find water. I find food.

I'm no longer thirsty and my food supply is suddenly more stocked than it has been since the first few days of the games. I even have the opportunity to thoroughly clean and care for every single wound I've earned over the Games. I can catalogue all my supplies, all my weaknesses. I have time to think, to come up with a plan.

The problem is, I have no idea what to do. The more I think myself in circles, the more frustrated I get. I refuse to sit around and selfishly hope that Clove dies and Cato finds himself in need of a partner. I don't want to give up. I don't want to die. I don't want to let my family down. I want to go home. The only problem with all of that is that is that I don't want that to be at the expense of Cato. I don't want to live if it means that he has to die…. but I don't want Cato and I to live if that means Clove has to die…

It's enough to make me want to punch something.

The way I see it, I have a few options. For now, I'm going to keep playing a waiting game. I'm confident enough in what I said yesterday that I truly believe there is hope that a feast will be announced soon. A feast where I will hopefully get a weapon, a feast that will bring everyone together.

My game plan, is to get in there before everyone else; get my weapons before anyone can snatch their bag and run. After that… that's when I have to make my choice. I won't run off and hide, I'm not a coward. I have enough pride and self-dignity and wish for survival that I won't make my family watch that. Once I have my weapons, I could team up with Thresh and take on the pair from Twelve and the Careers. Play the game the way the Capitol wants it to be played. Or… once I have my weapons, I could go out on my own. I could go after Twelve. Technically, I could go after Thresh or the Careers too, but I won't. I might not want to team up with Thresh, but killing him would be a step too far. As for Clove and Cato…

This is when I get frustrated.

I made it clear to Seneca Crane that the next move was not mine to make. The tree's not in my sector. I've played my cards, it's about time someone else moves their piece.

I have to wait all day, but finally, _finally_ it comes. The Capitol doesn't seem to agree that a good game is a fast game, but at least they've got things moving again. I had been making camp on a comfortable tree branch, but the announcement changes everything.

I can't keep the smirk off my face as I dig out Cato's night-vision glasses and slip them on.

"I knew we'd see eye to eye sooner or later Mr Crane," I say sweetly as I buckle my backpack on and climb down to the ground, "let's get this party started."

I set off at a steady pace in the direction of the cornucopia. If there's a feast at sunrise, I'm not going to dawdle. They say the early bird gets the worm and in this case, there's no such thing as being fashionably late. 

**...**

I'm on guard all night. Surely I won't be the only person to see the cornucopia as more than just a marker? The more the sky lightens however, the more confident I become. I don't catch a glimpse of a single other tribute and they've left it too late now. None of them are brave enough to chance the sprint across open ground to the shelter of the cornucopia in the light of dawn. Not when they all know that Clove at least doesn't miss.

If I wasn't so sick with fear, I might even feel a little smug about my prime position.

Unfortunately for me, I know that Clove isn't the only person who can do damage from a distance. I'll be completely exposed as I dart out to get my feasting spoils. It's an agonising wait. It would have been much worse if I'd done the smart thing and hidden my supplies up a tree. My lack of a jacket and the freezing temperature didn't leave me much choice on that front unfortunately. Without my sleeping bag I probably wouldn't have even lasted until morning. I'd be aiciclebefore the sun showed a hint of its face.

I choose to wear my backpack now too, because even if it will slow me down, it'll also offer some protection from an arrow or knife in the back. The sky is getting lighter by the second and every muscle in my body is tensed, ready for action, my eyes sweep over the meadow as I search for any sign of the promised feast or my competitors. At one point I see a flash of movement in the tree line, but I have no idea who or what it was. I'm coiled tighter than a spring, adrenaline already pumping through my body and my heartbeat racing and thundering in my ears. I have to force myself to keep breathing slow, deep and even.

 _Soon._ The first rays of sunlight break the horizon, I breathe in and my muscles tense as I search for even the hint of a disturbance.

 _There_.

Right in front of me, the ground is splitting and a round, snowy white table is rising from the ground. For a moment I'm frozen as my brain catalogues the four bags and registers that maybe Thresh does need something too… then I'm on my feet. I've grabbed my bag before the table has even clicked into place. It's big and black and heavy and the number 7 on the front marks it as mine. I've darted back into the shelter of the cornucopia in an instant and already I'm flat on the ground. There's no target for anyone to hit as I scramble with the bag. I know I've just changed the game. The others will hold back, hesitant because I didn't run. The numbing, heart stopping fear that I won't have been given a weapon hits me for the first time. What would I do then?

Luckily, I don't have to worry for long.

The two axes that I expose probably aren't what I would have chosen for myself, but they'll do just fine. They're perfectly sized and weighted for me, fitting comfortably into my hands and much lighter than they look.

I don't have to wait long for the other tributes to act.

Katniss Everdeen is either incredibly brave, incredibly stupid or just incredibly desperate. She sprints across the grassy plain with determination etched on her face and the bow clasped tightly in her hand. I don't see Clove and I barely see the knife until after Katniss knocks it aside with her bow. Her reflexes must be amazing. This thought is cemented only seconds later as I witness the fluid speed that the Girl-On-Fire manages to send an arrow directly at Clove - who has just crossed into my view.

I don't wait to see how Clove fares. I'm here to fight my own battles and the way I see it, I have a grudge to settle with Katniss and if I have any hope of going home, it's clear that she has to die. I release my axe with an almost silent grunt, but she's even faster than I gave her credit for, instead of splitting her skull in two, it only grazes her forehead as she dives for the ground. Not a sound escapes her lips as she lunges for the small orange bag that must contain medicine.

I almost lunge for her, but then I'm abruptly reminded again of Clove. My hit has effectively blinded Katniss, blood pours down her face, yet she still manages to avoid the knife that was also aimed for the middle of her forehead. It nicks her shoulder instead and Katniss lets loose a wild arrow, with a small noise of pain this time. It misses Clove badly and the brunette Career slams into Katniss with a roar.

I lower my raised axe with annoyance as I watch Clove pins Katniss to the ground with detachment. Perhaps I should stay out of that particular fight. I'm beginning to think that hanging around was a bad idea and with a grimace, I break cover. As I sprint passed the two girls I hear them hissing at each other.

"Peeta!" Katniss suddenly screams at the top of her lungs, just as my fingers close around my thrown axe.

Clove's head whips around and for the first time it seems she's aware of my presence as we make eye contact. The familiar smirk settles over her face and she turns her back on me again with a vicious cry of, "Liar!"

It makes me sick to hear her tormenting Katniss, but I've abruptly decided that I made a very bad mistake hanging around and I turn to sprint for the cover of the trees.

"ASPEN!"

My blood runs cold and I have just enough time to throw myself to the side as Thresh bulldozes towards me. It's for this precise reason that I wouldn't have picked two axes for myself I reflect as I fling one at his broad chest. It hits and holds, but doesn't slow him at all.

"You killed her!" he roars at me, not seeming bothered at all by the axe now lodged in his shoulder.

The injustice of this statement makes me furious.

"No I didn't!"

It bursts out of my mouth with indignation that isn't really appropriate for the situation. No, an appropriate response would be to turn tail and run instead of scowling at the furious, oak-tree-boy running at me with rocks clutched in his huge hands. I duck under his thick arm as he lets out a wordless roar and knock the rock away with my axe. It's a bad idea and not only does it send painful, nerve-jangling shock waves all through my arm, but it shatters the Capitol axe upon impact. The string of swear words that escapes my mouth is hardly complimentary and I don't pause in chewing out the hot-shot Capitol morons that made it as Thresh rips my second axe out of his chest and makes another grab for me.

I fling aside my useless, broken axe and turn my attention to something I'm better at. We're both unarmed and it's time for me to show how I got my ten. It's either that or let the boy from the district that's supposedly "watching over me" pummel me to death. It's not something I want to give the Girl-On-Fire the satisfaction of watching.

I dart around his attempts at grabbing me, using his weight against him. I'm smaller, I'm faster and all he's doing is tiring himself out. I just have to wait for an opening. I don't even have to wait that long. His attention is momentarily caught by the struggle still going on between Clove and Katniss and that's all it takes. I have him on his back and pinned in a single second, grimly holding on as he slams his fist into my ribs, until I manage to get that under control too.

"I didn't kill Rue—" I start to try and reason it him.

"Rose!"

I don't think anyone else would've managed to shift my attention. That is one of the basic rules in a fight. Do not get distracted. Subconsciously though, I have been worried about Cato's absence and the horror in his voice now is enough to make me look up. That's my mistake. Thresh is incredibly, monstrously strong. Stronger than Cato even and by looking up, my finger slips slightly. Minutely. It was pressed mercilessly to a nerve ending, causing a pain so strong it deadened and immobilised the muscle. The tiny shift is all it takes.

I'm thrown off him with one thrash of his powerful body. The breath is knocked from me and I see stars as I gasp and choke for air. For a moment I think it's all over as I hear the sound of his pounding footsteps. Only… they aren't coming towards me. I push myself up to see what's happening and my eyes widen with surprise.

"What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?" Thresh's voice has taken on a new volume, a new ferocity as he advances on Clove who he just hurls off Katniss as if she is an insect.

For the first time genuine fear covers every inch of her face as she frantically scrambles away from him, "No! No…" her voice breaks.

"CLOVE!"

I can see Cato now, he's sprinting for us from the forest, his sword is out and his voice is filled with desperate horror. What happens next is almost an out of body experience. Serenity seizes me as I watch Katniss pull herself off the ground and lift her bow and arrow. She's pointing her arrow at Cato, whose is running to save Clove, who was torturing Katniss and who is now being stalked by Thresh, who I would have under control if Cato hadn't initially been yelling my name with the same desperate horror. The serenity vanishes as quickly as it comes and the shriek tears from my lips feral and panicked.

"Katniss killed her!"

The monstrous weight of exactly what I've just done, hits the moment Katniss' arrow skims my thigh, catches and holds. The scream leaves my lips in exactly the same moment that the scream leaves Clove's and Cato's. Breath coming in shudders, I force myself to move, scrambling for the second axe that Thresh pulled out of his own chest. It's bloody and the handle is slick, but I clutch it as I desperately look around and then at the arrow dangling from my leg.

I'm lucky that Katniss rushed her shot. I don't think she'd miss a second time. She doesn't have time to fire another at me however. Her attention is firmly on the orange pack a few metres away and she lunges for that with determination. Thresh has turned his own attention away from Clove and he advances on Katniss now. She's too fast for him though and now she has the backpack, there's no need for her to hang around. The pull of the barely attached arrow as gravity drags it further into my leg makes me yank it out almost reflexively. Relief is immediate, but warm blood gushes down my leg as I force myself back to my feet.

Cato is getting closer, but Katniss won't run in his direction. She dodges Thresh and sprints passed me, probably knowing that my leg won't happily take my weight. She forgets something though and it's sheer luck that Clove's knife misses her as she suddenly veers to the right.

Again, it's almost as if I'm watching from above. Everything that happens next, might as well happen in slow motion.

Clove lifts her arm to fling another knife at The-Girl-On-Fire as Katniss turns and looses an arrow. Thresh lets out a roar that reminds me of an angry grizzly bear and hurls himself at the closest person. There's murder in his eyes and it's with terrified panic that I release my axe. Cato's desperate yell comes only a split second after Thresh's and his sword descends in an angry, decapitating arc. My axe finds its target at the same time Katniss' arrow finds its own. Clove and I might gasp in synchronisation, we might wear identically stunned expressions, but I don't know, because time suddenly seems to speed up once more and I can't breathe - can't see - past the crushing weight on top of me as I crash to the arena floor.

"No!" Cato's cry is filled with torment and the weight on top of me lifts.

The breath of air I suck in is congested, sharp with metallic, heavy blood.

I'm covered in it. I can taste it, barely see past it. It clogs my nose and for a moment I feel as though I'm drowning in a pool of blood. The ground is already drenched in it, sodden beneath my fingers as I scramble away from the crushing weight of Thresh's body. My hand hits something solid and my stomach heaves when my frantic gaze follows it and finds Thresh's detached head. His eyes still stare murderously, their vacancy only making the expression more disturbing.

I barely have time to turn my head as bile burns my throat and I heave up every single thing that was in my stomach. On and on I hurl, tears pouring down my cheeks as blood and vomit threatens to choke me. I retch even after there's nothing left to come up and I only stop when dizziness sends me collapsing back down, no longer strong enough to hold my head up. The blue sky above me swims and darkens several times and all I can hear is my heart beat, thundering in my ears.

Then abruptly another sound pierces my oblivion: _Cato_.

I think that's what brings me back. I was on the brink again. I could feel it: the temptation to close my eyes and sink into the blackness. For years, I have walked the tightrope between sane and not, between broken and coping, between wanting to die and holding on. I almost gave in. After years and years of fighting, in that moment I was closer than I had been in a very long time to just… letting go of any desire to live.

I gulp in huge lungfuls of air, my hands tightening to the point where my ragged fingernails bite into my palms. One more deep breath and the thundering in my ears slowly lessens, until I hear something else. I try to force myself to my feet, but I can't manage that. I drag myself towards Cato. Fighting for every single inch that lies between Thresh's body and Clove's. Between where I lie breaking to pieces and where Cato crouches, still trying to hold himself together. It is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but I don't give up. One elbow in front of the other and a shimmy in between as I drag my bloodied, beaten body towards him. It feels as though it must be an eternity before I reach him, but it can't be, because her mouth is still moving.

Finally I'm close enough to touch him and it's the moment I do that Clove goes still and the cannon fires for what must be the second time. The sight of the arrow in her stomach feels like a knife in my side and for a moment her face blurs and it's Cato, Brinna, Rue, my siblings, Willow, my parents with arrows in their bodies...

Cato's yell is raw and savage and his face twists with fury and hate. He's on his feet and storming away from me before I can open my mouth. With his sword in his hand, he yells and yells. He screams at the sky. At the whole of District Twelve. At the Capitol. At his mentors. He rages and threatens retribution and with every hate filled word that comes out of his mouth, his face twists and he looks more and more like a monster.

I don't know where I find the strength, but the desperation, the panic I feel gives it to me. I won't let him break apart. I won't let him fall off the cliff and become fully what they want him to. It's not any sort of love that stops him. He doesn't even seem to see me as I move towards him. He's too busy yelling at and swinging his sword at things and people that aren't here. He's deaf to my words. I try to speak softly. I try to reason with him. I try begging - but not for long.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME CATO!"

The angry roar comes out of my own mouth as I throw myself at him. I disarm him quickly and ruthlessly, gritting my teeth against the blows he lands on my already battered body. When I pry the sword out of his fingers, I throw it as far as I can, then I stop fighting. I go limp and let all my weight fall on him. I'm thrown to the ground and his body pins me there so I can't fight back even if I wanted to.

"Cato," I get out as his hands close around my throat and real panic shakes my assurance that he won't hurt me.

I'm too late. He's already gone over the edge.

Tears leak from my eyes as I try to catch his gaze. His expression is fierce, but his eyes are empty. So empty that it breaks my heart. As my air supply begins to really run out, I can't help but fight him. Pointlessly, I wriggle and my arms strain.

He's going to kill me. I'm too late. For a moment, I marvel at my own stupidity, but then I find something much more important to do with my last moments.

 _I forgive you._

I can't say it aloud, but I do my best to say it with my eyes. Black spots appear at the corners of my vision and then… abruptly, something changes. I'm too busy sucking in lungfuls of air through my bruised throat to do much at first besides note that I'm alive, but soon I have enough oxygen in my brain to process what Cato is saying.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Rose."

He says it over and over again and when I finally turn to look at him, my heart breaks. His eyes are wide and frantic, his reaching hand frozen a few inches from me and his mouth is twisted in clear self-hatred. The thing that my eyes zero in on however, are the tears trickling down his cheeks. He hasn't seemed to notice. His own eyes fixed on me and his huge body is shaking like a leaf.

When I reach for him, he flinches and leans away from me, shaking his head and repeating his words a little more frantically, "Rose. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I don't know if I can form words but I don't think it matters anyway, Cato is not a verbal person. I fling myself into his arms, using my remaining strength to squeeze him in a vice-like hold and bury my face in his shoulder. He really does feel like he's made of stone beneath me; tense and shaking and holding himself rigidly away from me. I don't give up though and I don't let go. I hold him as tightly as I can, pouring all of my feelings for him, all my forgiveness, all my comfort into the embrace.

It's only when his arms finally close around me, that my own shoulders start to shake.

 **...**

 **Wow... that chapter took a long time to write! Three completely different versions later I can honestly say that The Feast changed** ** _a lot_** **from how I first imagined my version of it. I really hope it makes sense and is easy enough to follow? I think I rewrote that one climatic paragraph at least ten times trying to make it more clear!**

 **It made me sad to kill Clove and Thresh off like this and I know that things are starting to deviate more significantly from the original storyline. Still! We're down to our last four tributes... any predictions on what's going to happen next?**

 **MASSIVE thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter! All the support really blew me away and motivated me to work extra hard on this chapter! Thank you so, so much to all of you readers! It honestly means the world to me!**

 **You know I love to hear what you think!**

 **-xx**


	24. Chapter 24

*** Chapter Twenty-Four ***

I don't really think there are words; not adequate ones at least. What am I supposed to say to Cato after he's lost one of his closest friends, decapitated someone and almost killed me? Does it make me insane to want to say something to him? To want to bring light back into his eyes? A normal person would probably run away screaming. I think it's safe to say that I'm a whole long way from being normal though.

I doubt Thresh would have lasted much longer anyway. I was responsible for that… just like Bien, all Cato really did was finish him off. My first axe caused him to lose a lot of blood. The second one I desperately threw at him - or I suppose it was the same axe, wasn't it? - saw his arm almost cleaved off along with his head. He was just another person whose side I should have been on that I failed. District 11 would probably join the list of districts hoping Twelve ripped us apart.

"I lied didn't I?" I ask Cato as he helps me try and wash Thresh's blood off my stained body. He's just stitched me up for the second time this week, dousing my leg in so much antiseptic that I almost concussed him. He'd had to straddle my torso to stop me from moving as he sewed, which hurt my pride. I was in awe of people who could do it to themselves. Luckily Cato was fast and efficient. He knew what he was doing and he'd whispered apologies and held me close when it was over.

I receive a look of confusion that forces me to elaborate, "To distract him… I said that Twelve killed Rue… but she never would. Her sister…"

"Rue was from Eleven," Cato says, "the twelve year old?"

He seems certain, but I nod anyway. His gaze finds mine and there's pain in his eyes as he takes a deep breath and slowly names, "Female from Nine, Male from Five, Female from Three, Bien, Male from Six, Osage, Thresh. Seven tributes, but not her."

It takes me a moment longer than it should to realise that he's just listed the people he killed. My hand finds his and I squeeze it tightly. I don't know if it's appropriate to feel relief at a time like this, but I do know that for a moment, that is what I feel.

"Some of those people are on my list too," I murmur to him as my fingers tighten around his and my eyes lower to the water lapping at the muddy bank of the lake as I think of the girl from Three and Bien as well as Thresh.

The water is washing the blood off my body, but the invisible stain will never leave them. My free hand shakes visibly as I stare at it. One moment it's clean and wet with cool water, next it's sticky with hot blood that seeps into every crevice and crack of my skin. I clench my fist and drop it back into the water. Looking at my hand now, it seems ghostly pale and skeletal. As if I'm already dead and decomposing. Abruptly I pull it back out and painfully readjust my position. I can't quite stop the hiss that escapes my lips and it immediately grabs Cato's attention.

"You're hurt somewhere else!" his hand tears from mine and his eyes darken with anger as he claps my face between his huge hands, "Rose!" he growls furiously.

"It's just bruises," I reassure him calmly, despite the dangerous anger in his eyes, "nothing either of us can do about it. I'll be fine."

"Stand up," he hisses out, getting to his feet and looming over me menacingly.

I hold his gaze for a moment, then slowly do as he asked. He helps me up, but leaves me to balance on my good leg precariously as he looks me over intently. I can see the frustration in his eyes as he takes in my blood-stained clothes, shredded shirt and ripped trousers. The white bandages showing clearly around my thigh.

"You've already fixed me, Cato" I say softly and gently, though don't move.

He scowls all the more furiously at me and I press my lips tightly together and take a deep breath, preparing to stand in annoyed silence while he satisfies his aggressive worry. Because I understand him enough to know that his anger is caused by fear. He's scared that I've been hurt and more than that he's terrified that I've been hurt on his watch. Eventually he finished his visual examination and reaches to pull me to him. The action is abrupt, but it's a gentle embrace he cradles me in. Wrapping himself around me as if to form a protective shell.

It's odd.

I've gone so many years insisting I can take care of myself. Trying to make everyone believe I'm strong and independent and fierce. That I don't need protecting and coddling. The thing is though, Cato _knows that_ , he knows I can fight and I don't need him to protect me. He knows all of that, yet he still needs to know that I'm okay, as much for himself as for me. It's because I know that he knows that I'm able to relax into the warmth and safety of his embrace. He's looking after me, even though I don't need him to, but sometimes it's nice to be looked after.

"It's your ribs, isn't it?" he mutters after a moment.

I simply nod into his chest, recalling the dead weight of Thresh crushing me to the ground,

"I can breathe fine, it's just the odd movement," I murmur after a moment when I feel Cato slowly tense against me, "and it is _not_ your fault."

He doesn't argue, but the tension doesn't really leave his shoulders as I slowly pull away from him and stretch up to press a light, lingering kiss to his lips.

 **...**

We set up camp in the mouth of the cornucopia. The open space makes me antsy, but Cato is insistent that nobody can sneak up on us out here and tells me the forest makes _him_ antsy.

"I just feel so exposed," I mutter, "she'll know exactly where we are."

"So?" Cato asks, some arrogance seeping in with his wide smirk, "she can't shoot us without leaving the trees and you and I are more than a match for her and Lover Boy."

His confidence makes me smirk back at him, but I'm less impressed when he insists on building a large fire and collecting enough wood to keep it burning through the night. To me it seems to be asking for it a little too much, but then I remind myself that Cato is a Career. They're supposed to be arrogant and flashy and put on a good show. Cato knows what the Capitol expects of him and he also seems to realise — much before I do — that the Capitol might not be too happy with the way the Feast played out. They got their drama, but neither Cato or I said anything very nice about the Capitol during the fight. In fact Cato pretty much asked for a mutt to appear and finish him off to stop the treasonous things he was roaring. The Capitol definitely needed to be placated.

I make a show of giving in to what he wants and follow his lead with lighthearted jokes and easy laughter as we build a fire so big I'd call it a bonfire rather than a campfire. Johanna evidently approves and the parachute she sends confirms my growing suspicions about how we must return to our designated roles in these Games. It's a single white pill I'm willing to bet is a painkiller, antibiotic and anti-inflammatory for my arrow wound and ribs, the note though is pure evil. Unfortunately the parachute goes closer to Cato and he opens it up, despite the glaringly obvious '7' on the front.

I groan when he picks up the note and hide my face in his shoulder, "What's she got to say this time then?"

Cato rumbles with laughter and when I lift my head he's got a huge smirk on his face and a glint in his eye that makes a flush automatically climb up my neck, "She says not to get excited, because it's not a contraceptive pill," he informs me with a shit-eating grin.

"Oh believe me I'm not," I automatically quip and swipe the pill from his hand and swallow it quickly.

Cato's eyes darken and he easily lifts me onto his lap, making me whine in protest and him snicker before attaching his lips to my neck. He starts out nuzzling and then when I've stopped my half-hearted attempts to move off him and have looped my arms around his neck he starts brushing light kisses up my jaw. When he finds my pulse point a small, but embarrassing moan escapes my lips and my hands tighten. He hisses as my nails dig into his skin and responds by nipping harder at my neck. This only makes me mewl again as my head lolls back bonelessly, granting him full access to my throat. His hand twists in my hair, holding it there though I'm not fighting him.

My nails bite into the back of his neck and then move up to tug hard on his hair too. He growls against my neck and lurches forward to press me to the ground beneath him. Even as he looms over me and firmly locks my lips in an intense and dominant kiss, he's careful not to put any of his weight on my bruised body.

"How about now?" he rumbles in a low growl, pulling away to look at me with satisfaction.

I imagine how I must look to him. My ragged clothes, exposing flushed skin and most of my chest and stomach. Marks on my neck from his teeth, my lips swollen, my hair a mess, gasping for breath, my eyes dark with my desire for him.

"I've never been good at following Johanna's instructions," I breathe out and kick my legs up to wrap around his waist in a vice like grip, rolling both of us so that I'm now on top.

The movement makes my ribs burn, but the feeling of Cato beneath me starts a whole other warm ache in the core of my being. His lips are swollen too and his eyes hooded with lust. He's still smirking smugly as I lean over him, my hands propped on either side of his head. I hover my lips over his and stare him in the eye for a moment. There's more than just raw yearning there. Smug satisfaction and happiness as well as a sort of admiration that makes me feel as if I finally have a place in this world.

I smirk down at him for a moment, then our lips are connected once more and I lose myself in the simplicity of our body heat, the feeling of his hands on mine and the raging battle for dominance between our tongues. Skin on skin, wandering hands and gasping breathy moans, eventually the fierceness dies down to soft caresses, gentle lips and finally a comfortable and easy embrace.

It's easy to fall asleep in Cato's arms.

You'd think it would be hard. A few hours ago, with nightmares scorched into my brain, I wasn't sure I'd ever sleep soundly again. I do though. I'm exhausted and Cato is warmth and safety and maybe even something more than that. Surrounded in that sort of comfort, it's impossible not to sleep.

When I wake up, Cato isn't next to me anymore. It takes barely a second for me to blink away my befuddlement and abruptly lurch upright. A hiss of pain escapes me as the movement pulls on my ribs, which have seized up and are aching even more than they were the last night. My movement and noise attracts Cato's attention and he moves over quickly to crouch next to me with a smile. As soon as I see him the sudden panic that's gripped me eases and is replaced with relief.

"Good morning," he says and it's the closest to cheerful I've ever heard him, "Did you sleep okay?"

I nod and look around warily before focusing on him again. He's still grinning at me and when I begin to smile back, he swoops down to kiss me. When he goes to pull away, I grip his hair tightly to hold him to me a little longer, but eventually he succeeds in standing back up with a chuckle.

"I'm making breakfast," he says and when I blink at him uncomprehendingly he laughs again and kisses the top of my head, "You stay right there! It's almost ready!"

I stare after him in complete and utter shock as he moves back towards the embers of the fire, humming tunelessly under his breath. Making breakfast? Cato is making me breakfast? In the middle of the Hunger Games? I contemplate reaching down to pinch myself, but my ribs hurt and my lips still tingle from his kiss so I can't be dreaming. Cato glances over his shoulder and shakes his head at me with a smile, "Lie down Rose! It'll be ready soon."

He smiles encouragingly as I numbly move to comply with his orders. On my back, I tilt my head backwards so I can still see him. He's upside down though and it probably makes me look ridiculous, so after a moment I relax and stare up at the sky in contemplative amazement instead.

"He cooks," I mumble incredulously under my breath, "he fucking cooks."

Cato is so adorable with his enthusiasm that I would never retract that statement. He cooks, but he doesn't cook… very well.

"Is this… tea?" I wonder, sipping at the lukewarm, flavourless water.

He nods eagerly,  
"Dandelion tea!"

I nod politely and under his gaze take another sip and force an appreciative smile. Cato does admit to having been sent the ingredients for his meal by his mentors. A thick loaf of bread embedded with nuts and grains and a small jar of honey. However, he toasted the bread over the fire and to my surprise and his satisfaction, he'd also managed to find a strawberry patch. Though the bread is a little charred, the combination of it with the honey and strawberries is achingly similar to my last meal in District Seven. Cato's mood is infectious and soon it's like we have forgotten where we are. We lounge around in the morning sun, eating bread slathered in honey, feeding each other strawberries and chatting idly. It's the most open and happy Cato's ever been and I have a feeling he'd say the same of me.

It's perfection. Complete and utter perfection. A piece of Heaven after the Hell of the day before.

Around midmorning it starts to rain. For a while Cato and I run around like headless chickens. Me moving all our supplies into the shelter of the cornucopia and him trying to collect some wood to keep out of the rain. He even uses his two huge swords to carry a few burning embers into the cornucopia to start another small fire there. I'm sure we'll be grateful for it tonight.

After we've finished being sensible I can't help myself. Standing staring out at the rain washing away the dust and listening to the growing wind rustling the leaves of the trees I'm struck once again by the similarity to home. It's a true District Seven storm: howling winds, pelting rain and rumbles upon rumbles of thunder follow the flashing sheets of lightning like applause. While I'm standing, staring out with yearning, Cato is huddled by the fire, frowning. His cheerfulness is gone and when I turn to look at him, I see him wince and frown harder as thunder rumbles and lightning flashes outside. I love a good storm. Cato, it seems, does not. He sees me looking and shoots me a curious look, probably wondering why I'm standing at the very edge of our shelter. I smile at him and spread my arms as I step back into the rain.

It pelts down onto my skin, plastering my hair to my skull and my clothes to my body in seconds. The water is icy cold and I shiver, but it's as much with excitement as with cold. A giddy laugh escapes my mouth and I tilt my head up to the sky as I spin around and round. Cato calls my name and then asks me if I'm mad, but it only makes me laugh more.

It's like I'm a little girl again. Innocent and untouched by the world, feeling small and insignificant and enjoying the anonymity. The rain was always mine and Fletcher's thing. We'd splash in puddles and dance and yahoo and spend hours out in storms, scaring our parents half to death and making Glen tell us we'd be hit by lightning one day. It makes me feel like the girl I was when I left District Seven. It makes me feel like I could be that girl again. With the possibility of going home higher than it's ever been, my ability to be the girl my family sees me as is becoming more and more important. They want their Rose back, not one that's been warped and disfigured beyond recognition. The rain makes me feel like I'm still me.

"You're going to kill yourself!" Cato roars at me from the edge of the cornucopia.

"No," I contradict with a beaming grin, "I'm making myself feel alive!"

I spin once more and then stumble towards him with my hand held out. Cato flinches as the deafening crash of thunder comes from right overhead and for a moment fear flicks across his stony face. He doesn't like the thunder.

"Dance with me Cato!" I call over it's roar, grabbing his hand in mine and tugging on it, "What's the point in being alive if we don't make the most of it?" I urge.

I'm not sure whether I actually convince him or if I just yank hard enough to pull him out of the shelter. Either way he's drenched in a heartbeat and seems to realise there's no point in running now. I dance away from him and hold my arms up to the sky, throwing my head back and yelling with pleasure and passion, letting all the emotions surge out of me in one cry.

Cato stares at me with growing concern, but I only smile, "Try it," I urge, "Be completely out of control and just scream everything out. Dance and spin and let the rain just… wash everything away."

I take his hands in mine and spin both of us, Cato stumbling with me. I don't manage to make him scream much more than a half-hearted yell, but he is smiling slightly at me as I pull him this way and that, dancing around him and yahooing as if I have been reduced to a primal savage from millions of years ago.

"You're crazy!" he says, though his face is split in a wide grin and his eyes dance as they watch me.

"I know! But better to be crazy than boring!" I exclaim, giggling hysterically at my own joviality.

He snags my hand in his as I dance past and draws me to him, just as the next thunderclap sounds. The smile falls off his face and his whole body tenses. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I press myself close to him, melding our bodies together and pulling his head down so I can rest my forehead against his. His frantically darting eyes settle on me and when they do, I kiss him tenderly. His arms soon come to wrap around me just as tightly and protectively and when we stumble apart some time later, he's grinning and this time he spins all on his own.

"I hear you get warm faster if you take your clothes off," he tells me with a smirk when we're both shivering with cold.

I simply lift an eyebrow at him challengingly and step back into our metal shelter. Cato chuckles and follows me with a little relief. As he bends to put another log on the fire, I start stripping off my clothes. Cato freezes in the act of reaching for the log and stares at me with wide eyes as I hold his gaze. My shirt — which wasn't much really — comes off first, then I kick off my boots and start on my belt. I half expected Cato to smirk and offer his assistance, but he doesn't. He simply watches with shocked amazement as I peel my trousers off my legs. For a moment I pretend to deliberate over my panties, slipping my fingers into the waistband and biting my lip thoughtfully.

Cato audibly swallows.

I laugh and turn my back on him, bending over to pick up my sopping clothes and going to lay them out by the fire. I can feel his gaze burning into me and practically smell the rising tension in the room. When I turn back to him, I find that Cato is on his feet. He pulls his shirt off in one fluid movement that makes his muscles ripple and flex, then tosses it aside. Like me, he goes slow and stares me down as he begins taking his own pants off. I'm better at controlling my expression and I keep my smug smirk in place, but make no attempts to hide my roving gaze.

"Like what you see?" he teases with an arrogant grin.

"It's alright," I shrug and start combing through my wet hair.

Cato's arm around my waist stops me. He tries to pull me to him, but after pressing one fast, chaste kiss to his lips I pull away and shake my head, going to wrap myself in my sleeping bag. The message is clear, but I smile at Cato and pat his sleeping bag invitingly. He sighs, but comes and sits down next to me.

"You're such a tease," he states, burrowing an arm under my blanket to loop around my waist and rub small circles on my hip.

"And you're a pig," I respond, leaning my head against his shoulder contently and trying not to shiver as his fingers dart up my torso and back down again, "we're on camera."

"You stripped on camera," there's just a hint of discontentment in his voice and his arm tightens slightly possessively.

"The Parade costume was worse," I mutter, though my cheeks flush and I tug the sleeping bag higher.

Cato rumbles a noise that could be agreement or acknowledgement and kisses my hair, his wandering fingers settling at my waist, "So do you dance in the rain often?"

"Oh, had you not realised I'm kind of weird yet?" I tease with a laugh, "my brother and I… we used to a lot when we were kids. Not much anymore, but I've always liked the rain."

"Fletcher?" Cato questions.

Touched that he's remembered, I nod and grin slyly at him, "Never thought I'd say you were anything like Glen, but he thinks we're crazy too."

Cato snorts and nods, "You are. Why am I not like Glen?"

I smile and shrug, "You're just not. He's a thinker, likes reading books and always has something profound to say. He's wasted as a logger. Could probably redesign our whole process to make it more efficient, cost effective and successful. If he'd been born Capitol or in District Three, he'd be as successful as you can get. Instead he has to cut down trees like the rest of us."

"You think I'm not a thinker?" Cato asks and I can tell he's teasing.

"You're a do-er," I say with a giggle, "Glen's all words and numbers and wry humour. You're not. I wonder how he's doing…" I consider for a moment and then decide, "Maybe I'm an aunt to a newborn baby and have no idea. Felicity should have had the baby by now."

"Maybe if it's a girl they'll call her Rose."

I scoff and shake my head, "I hope not! My oldest sister is named after mum's twin sister. It's a nice idea, but… sometimes the way mum looks at her, it's like she wants to see Alaina."

Cato is silent for a moment and I don't really blame him, but then he shifts behind me and says with certainty, "We'll get you home so you can meet him or her. You're going to see them all again Rose."

I twist around to smile at him and then with curiosity that has been building over the last few days, dare to ask, "What about your family?"

Cato tenses and a muscle in his jaw twitches. I can see the pain filling his eyes and know that my instincts have been right, Cato doesn't like talking about his family. Still, I want to know and I turn in his arms to press close to him in an effort to offer a little comfort.

"I don't have much of a family," he says finally, staring into the burning embers of the fire, "Clove… Clove and some of the other trainees… and Dominick," his voice cracks slightly on the name, but he clears his throat and gruffly finishes, "they are my family."

I study him for a moment and recall that Clove was reaped. She's younger than the usual tributes from the Career districts, maybe her time wasn't supposed to come for a few years. Maybe they were never supposed to be in the arena together. I wonder about the other people he's named... maybe I'll get to meet them.

"Do you want to do something to say goodbye?" I ask quietly, thinking back to the way I'd tried to farewell Linden, "Is there something you do in District Two?"

"We bury our dead under stone," Cato says, his voice empty and his face impassive, "and for our tributes, we carve their names into the stone wall of the Academy."

I chew on my lip, wondering how we could emulate anything like it in the arena. I know there are some big flat rocks by the lake and I wonder if it would be possible to carve her name into one as a marker. I doubt it will be, not without a chisel and we only have so many weapons between us. We can't really afford to blunt knives trying. I look up contemplatively and see the golden, metal of the cornucopia, flickering with shadows in the light of the fire. We might not be able to carve it in stone, but maybe we could carve it in metal.

I leap to my feet, taking the knife at my side. The knife skids off the gold, but it leaves a faint mark and when I push harder to the same spot, the mark becomes clearer.

"It's not stone," I murmur, turning to Cato who had silently joined me, "but… do you think…?"

Cato gazes at me for a long moment and an array of emotions play across his face before he finally nods and takes the knife from me. It takes a long time, much longer than carving into wood, but I stand solemnly at Cato's side as he works and finally he's finished. He leaves his hand pressed against the wall, but lets the knife fall to his side and his shoulders slump. His fallen arm allows me to see his finished work:

 _CLOVE — she will live on_

Cato is silent, but his hand traces the shape of the letters that make her name and his eyes are glazed. He doesn't seem like he's going to say anything, but I feel I should say something. Cato is all about the non-verbal, but Clove had a mouth on her. I think she'd appreciate some words. They come surprisingly easily.

"You were smart and quick witted, brave and talented, beautiful and loyal. You took care of him when I couldn't. You were a true competitor and I'll never forget the girl that never missed. Rest in peace Clove."

I don't look at Cato, but when his hand slips into mine, I squeeze it tightly. When he lowers to his knees and rests his head against the metal, I place a hand on his shoulder. When he then turns and presses his face into my stomach and wraps his arms around my waist, I don't comment on the hot moisture against my bare skin, I simply hold him to me and continue to stare at the insignificant words tattooed on the wall. They mark yet another fallen child and what words can ever do justice to that?

 **...**

 **Thank you so much to all the reviewers of the last chapter! I appreciate you guys so much! Hope you all like this chapter! It's a bit of a decrease in pace from the last couple, but I think we need to see more of Cato and Rose interacting and I think they needed the time to rest after The Feast!**

 **Would love to know what you think! Hopefully I'll get the next update up faster!**

 **Thanks again everyone!**

 **\- xx**


	25. Chapter 25

**SERIOUS WARNING: Mentions of Non-Consensual Sex, Violence and Depression. PLEASE BE MINDFUL OF YOUR OWN WELL-BEING BEFORE YOU CHOOSE TO READ.**

 **Semi-Serious Warning: Fluff and some lustful sexual tension ahead!**

 *** Chapter Twenty-Five ***

In some ways saying goodbye to Clove makes the day even more perfect. It makes it real; a reminder of the preciousness and fragility of perfection. The rain doesn't let up and we receive another food parcel in the late afternoon. The note is from Johanna, but the contents are unfamiliar to me and Cato's expression tells me the food is typical of District Two. I can just imagine Johanna's displeasure at us forcing her to work with Cato's mentors and when I say it aloud he guffaws too.

"If they kill each other it'll be your fault," I tease him, " you could have just left me alone!"

"As if," he smirks at me confidently, "you never would've stayed away for long!"

I scoff at him disbelievingly and roll my eyes, but nestle back into his side, "How the hell did we end up here?" I wonder.

"You couldn't resist all this?"

"All _that_ is exactly why I was so disinterested for so long."

Cato laughs, because he knows as well as I do that that's a lie. I was distracted by Cato the moment I saw him. In person his presence — made up by his confidence and charisma as well as his appearance — was impossible for me to ignore. For a while we sit in contented silence. I'm fiddling with Cato's fingers and vacantly staring out at the storm. Cato's running his fingers through my hair and watching the fire crackle and flicker. I'm content and drowsy with happiness, but when Cato speaks my name I turn to look at him. He tenses against me and his eyes find mine, whatever he's about to say is important.

"Can I ask you something?"

I nod and straighten up to sit more at attention, the drowsiness quickly being shaken off.

"Who is Wren?"

I was preparing for a difficult question, but I wasn't really expecting that. It immediately makes me shut down. My temper flares with panic and I pull away from him. What right does he have to ask that when he's told me nothing about his family? He knows Wren's the reason I am the way I am! What more does he want? I'm just about to snap something defensive at him when a sudden thought stops me: _He told me about the trainer_.

Cato had shared that weakness with me days ago. At the time I'd taken it in my stride, but now he is asking me to do the same, I realise how important it is that he'd trusted me enough to open up about his own worst experiences. It's that realisation and the open curiosity on his face that makes the anger fizzle away to pure fear. My shoulders slump and I wrap my arms protectively around myself as the memory of the pain, the shame and the terror washes over me. I don't want Cato to know my darkest secret. He matters so much, his opinions matter so much. What if he doesn't want me after he hears how I've been used and tossed aside? Worse, what if he looks at me with the same disgust, disbelief and accusation as the people at home? Could I handle that?

"Did he touch you?" Cato asks and now I can see a hint of anger in him. Not in his tone, which is calm, collected and gentle. Not in his expression which is carefully controlled. Only in his eyes. They've hardened and he's studying me intently.

"When I started to take your shirt off you panicked," he says, stating it like the fact it is, "you said I wasn't Wren. Did he touch you Rose?"

With the nausea churning in my stomach and a lump the size of a pinecone in my throat, I'm surprised by the harsh bark of laughter that escapes me and even more shocked by the venom in the words I speak, "He did more than just touch."

Cato's hands jerk reflexively to his weapons and a muscle in his jaw twitches, but aside from that he is still firmly in control of his reactions, "Who is he? Is he old? Family?"

I shake my head and hug myself tighter as the ability to speak deserts me. Does it matter who he is? Sort of, because I honestly think Fletcher would have killed anyone else.

"He's… he's three-four years older," I finally whisper with none of my previous steel, "And… he's the youngest s-son of Seven's m-mayor."

Cato stays silent, just looking at me and I feel compelled to continue. Once I start, the words burst out in a stream of detached sentences that barely fit together and leave me feeling so empty I wonder if I'm going rotten and am being hollowed out like a tree.

I tell him sort of backwards. Starting with how I nearly watched my little sister starve, that my father and brother lost their jobs, that sweet, sensible Glen came home with a black-eye and valiant, hot-headed Fletcher spent two nights in a holding cell. I tell him how I used to be so stupidly, perfectly naive. Innocent. Friendly. _Pretty_. I tell him how I'm sort of the district pariah, especially in my area, and that most people didn't believe me. Then I tell him how I was wearing a pink dress. I hate the colour pink, I tell him, but Laina made it for me and I love Laina, so I sort of loved that dress. I tell him how I was with friends, but got separated from them after Wren asked me to dance. I was fourteen and he was older, good looking, charming and a district celebrity.

"I was _flattered_ ," I spit, with just a little fire, before lapsing back into detachment as I remember the smell of wood chips, sweat, alcohol and smoke.

It happened slow, but not. I was leaving because he'd tried to kiss me and I didn't want that, but then he was apologising and begging me to have one more drink and dance to one last song. And I was still flattered, all the way until I blacked out and woke up somewhere else. I keep talking, my words coming faster and less comprehensible. Stupid, meaningless details and tangents that don't make much sense. I could go on, but by the time I've got the important things out my breath is coming in short shallow gasps and my head is pounding. I'm moments away from another full scale panic attack as dizziness makes my vision swim, a choked noise escaping my throat makes me realise I'm also crying.

"I thought I was better," I whisper and swipe angrily at my eyes, "I thought it had made me strong," a bitter laugh escapes my throat and I hug myself tighter, "But I'm still weak!" I spit the word out with self-disgust as a tremor shakes my whole body, "I'm still shallow and pathetic and too fucking stupid to see—"

When his arms wrap around me, I cry out and try to push him off. In my mind, the arms are restraining, holding me down and trapping me. It's not until my face is firmly pushed into his chest that I stop fighting him. It's not alcohol and ripe sweat that floods my nostrils. Instead it's a rich aroma that smells almost like home. Almost like pine.

"You're not weak."

The emotion in his voice shocks me enough that I tense again in his arms. I can hear the effort he's putting into keeping his voice steady and controlled, but he can't hide it fully. There's pain in his words, so much pain and fierceness.

"Nobody else has ever told me I'm wrong. Or slapped me. Nobody else has ever said no like you did. There's nobody else that would march up to a… a monster who had been trained to kill children and tell him that she stole his knife and would only give it back if he apologised for being rude. There's nobody else like you Rosilda Aspen."

His speech is stilted and there's awkward pauses where he stumbles, trying to find the right words, but I'm grateful for the attempt. The fact that he's trying to put his thoughts and emotions into words is not lost on me and I don't resist as he shifts his body to pull me onto his lap, wrapping me once more in the safety of his arms. It's the light touch to my cheek, swiping away a tear that I'm desperately trying to suppress, the way he doesn't stop stroking my hair and doesn't lessen his hold on me that speaks when he can't find the words. He holds me tight until my body finally stops shaking and when it does he lowers his lips to my ear and whispers, "I'm never going to let anyone hurt you again. I swear it."

Then he kisses my temple and resettles his chin on top of my head, waiting for me to make the first move. I can't. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to remove my face from his sopping wet shoulder and show the entire country my tear-stained puffy face. I don't want to show them proof of my weakness. I'm mortified and angry with myself for my break down. It's exactly what I swore I wouldn't do and disgust claws at my stomach. What must Johanna think? And what about my family? I've worked so hard to shelter them in the last few years, to not let them see how affected I still am and now all of that's been shattered. They'll see me as the broken girl I was four years ago.

It's not for several more minutes that I realise something very important.

Cato's holding me in his arms. He listened to my story. He stopped me when it became more self-hating abuse. He saw me cry. He knew that the only way to stop it was to hold me tight until I remembered why life was worth living. He did the best he could to tell me what I needed to hear. I broke down completely in front of him. All my barriers were gone. He'd seen me for who I actually was…

Yet, for some reason he'd told me I was strong. He'd stayed and held me. Not only had he tried to hold me together, but he'd sworn to protect me. Things like this had happened before. My mother had held me, my sisters too, my father more times and Fletcher more still. Every time it had happened though, I'd been unable to look them in the eye for days. Guilt and embarrassment clawed at my stomach and made it all the worse. I hated them seeing me like that.

I didn't feel any of that towards Cato. I didn't worry what he must think of me, because he'd just proved he wasn't going to run. I didn't feel insanely selfish and guilty for being unable to hold it together and for dumping my problems on him. I didn't feel furious with myself for having to depend on him. None of the embarrassment, anger or awkwardness I was feeling was at all directed towards him and I didn't know why.

He made me feel safer than anyone ever had before. Not just because he was physically strong and promised to protect me. He made me _feel_ beautiful and strong, but he also made me feel like I didn't have to be. Like no matter how I projected myself to the world, or how often that mask slipped, he could see the real me, could see the barely healed fractures and scars and saw them as badges of strength and beauty rather than embarrassments.

"Cato?"

"Yeah?"

He sounds slightly surprised, as if I've startled him from his thoughts, but when I lift my head and peer up at him through my eyelashes, his attention is fixed on me and there's a sort of pained yearning on his face.

"Thank you," I whisper trying to convey the depths of my feelings in my voice and eyes, "Thank you."

His brow furrows with confusion for a moment as he tries to make sense of my gratitude, but when I reach up to trace his jawline with a single finger, his eyes soften and he slowly tilts his chin in so he's leaning into my touch as I open my palm out, feeling the smooth skin of his cheek.

"I've got you," he promises and squeezes me tighter, "as long as you'll let me, I've got you. And when we win this thing, you're never going to have to see that piece of shit again."

His eyes darken with dangerous promise, but when I bite my lip and press my hand to his cheek, it crumples. I know he wants to kill Wren for what he's done to me, but I also know that Cato knows he can't fully erase what he did. He looks almost tortured as he gazes at me with frustration clear in his eyes. I understand where the pain is coming from and lift my other hand so I'm cradling his face between my hands, "Nothing that has happened to me is your fault Cato."

"I…" he looks so anguished, my own heart starts to ache, "I hurt you. I left horrible marks on your skin. W- when I saw them… I wanted to kill the person that left them. Then, I realised it was me. I was the monster—"

"You're not a monster," I say firmly, pulling his head down so his forehead rests against mine and he has no choice but to meet my eye, "You're not a monster. Not the real you. Not the Cato that taught me to use a spear, saved my life in the bloodbath or who looked after me after that wild dog attacked me. Not the Cato that told me about the roof, or helped me say goodbye to Brinna. Not the Cato that did everything under the sun to make sure his district partner had the best shot at going home. Not the Cato that tried to make me dandelion tea in the middle of the Hunger Games or who got worried when I was swimming in the river. Not the boy that danced with me in the rain and carved a name into the cornucopia so someone he loved would never be forgotten. You're not a monster."

"I've killed…" he tries to shake his head, but I'm still holding it, so he settles for a pained and frustrated grunt, "And I'd do it again. I'll kill more so we can go home. I'd have killed you too, if…"

The shame, guilt and regret on his face is as immense as the tenderness in his eyes when he looks at me. It makes my heart soar, but it also makes it break.

"Do you want to know a secret?" I ask after a moment's pause, the words come out because I'm desperate to do something about the pain in his eyes, I want to make it go away.

I wait until I have his attention, then slide my hands from his face down to link loosely around his neck, "Before the recap of the reaping started, Johanna told Linden and I that she could guess who was going to win the Games from the reaping alone, or at least pick the top three. She gave me the task of picking out who I thought would be my toughest opponents."

Cato looks slightly bemused, but there's curiosity in his gaze and his attention is focused on me as I continue, "District One came first of course and I was immediately… nervous," I continue after a moment's hesitation, "I make it my mission not to judge based off appearance alone and seeing Glimmer being the first person on the stage? I knew she'd get sponsors and I also know how dangerous it is to under-estimate a pretty face. Both her and Marvel, they were so confident, so smug. They belonged up there and they knew it. Then Clove was reaped and for a split second I was relieved I wouldn't have to face another Career. Then I saw her expression. Even before Johanna explained, I knew she would be deadly. That was _nothing_ , _nothing_ like what went through my head when I saw you-"

"You didn't think I looked confident and deadly?" Cato growls in amusement.

"Alright, so maybe it wasn't completely different," I say with a wicked smile, "I did think you looked pretty enough to give Glimmer a run for her money on the seductive, feminine approach—"

His affronted noise cracks my smirk and I laugh for a moment before growing serious again, "No, I was very intimidated by you, don't worry."

He grins smugly and I roll my eyes.

"The secret…" I pause to make sure he's listening, "the secret is that I thought you had the most beautiful eyes and for a moment it made me sad that it was volunteering to come here that made them so bright," Cato's face has gone carefully blank, he's not sure how to take my words and I rush on quickly, "the secret is… I wanted to make your whole face light up, but I barely even had to try. Your eyes are their brightest not when you're fighting, but when you're… squabbling with Clove, when you really laugh and sometimes just when you look at me," as if verifying my statement, his expression has softened and his face gleams with happiness.

I stare at him earnestly, "You, Cato Hadley, are _not_ a monster."

Words escape him again, but the way he pulls me close and the tenderness that he cradles me speaks for him. I know that I've gotten through to him and I think maybe my words mean almost as much to him as his do to me.

The moment passes and after kissing my forehead sweetly, Cato's infernal smirk reappears, "So, what I'm hearing is that you were head over heels and _dripping_ the moment you saw me?"

It's my turn to splutter, my pale skin betrays me and my face flushes with colour, "Of course not," I try for a haughty snort, but it turns into a squeal as Cato pushes me over onto my back and hovers over me with a wide grin.

"I think that's exactly what you meant!"

"It wasn't," I say firmly, ignoring the fact his face is inching closer to me.

"Really?" He lowers his lips to my neck and my breath catches as he kisses and sucks lightly, "It wasn't?"

"Er… yeah," instead of being firm, my voice has degraded to a breathy gasp of pleasure.

My arms loop around his neck without my permission and draw him closer to me. A full moan escapes my lips as he finds my pulse point and grinds some of his weight down on me. My skin is flushed with heat and I'm panting by the time Cato pulls up to look at me. His smirk widens to a full grin, "If you weren't then… you are now!"

Instead of replying and embarrassing myself even more on national television I needfully pull his shirt to catch his lips in mine. Cato growls into my mouth and uses his position above me to part my lips and claim my mouth in a searing kiss. It takes my breath away again. He's all over me, his weight pressing against me everywhere, his smell in my nose and his growl lingering in my ears. When he pulls back abruptly to trail kisses down my neck and chest I'm gasping for breath and have to blink spots hazily from my eyes. When his name drops from my lips in a wanton moan, he rises to smirk arrogantly and triumphantly down at me.

"Dripping," he whispers in my ear, ghosting his lips over the shell and nipping at my lobe.

I shove at him half-heartedly with a whine of annoyance. When he starts laughing fully I manage to gather my wits enough to glare. I'm not quite brave enough to peek down to see if he's been affected as much as I have, although I'm pretty sure I recognised the firm object that was being pushed against my stomach and thighs.

"Tease," I mutter venomously, which only makes him laugh harder. He leans forward on his hands, still hovering over me triumphantly. His lower half dips to press against me once more, his laughter mocking and his smirk pulling at his lips. This time I am sure of what I'm feeling. He's just as aroused as I am, which only flusters me more and sends another electric tremor through my body.

I scowl fiercely, "I know that's not a knife in you pocket! I don't know what you're so bloody smug about Cato, I can and will say no to you."

"Because that worked out _really_ well for you last time," he teases, but sits back on his haunches to give me some room.

"You're lucky to be alive and you know it," I insist, sitting up and crossing my arms petulantly as I pout dramatically.

Cato's smirk eases to a genuine grin and he leans forward slightly to peer at me, "If I'm still alive, does that mean you like me?"

All traces of playfulness are wiped off my face and Cato instantly looks contrite as he realises what he's said — what he's implied.

"I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," I cut him off, reaching to touch his shoulder, "All you have to know," I say summoning up a small smile, "is that at some point you got into my head and made me start caring an awful lot. I mean, I've had dozens of opportunities to kill you and not only did I not do it, but I was happy not to do it. I suppose even when you insulted my honour and disrespected everything I stood for, I couldn't quite forget that you had actually done some nice things too and that you never once asked to be repaid for that," I laugh teasingly.

Cato fidgets slightly and doesn't return my smile, "You know," he mumbles guiltily, "My mentor, Titan… he really wanted you to be part of the Pack… Enobaria too. They were furious that Clove and I failed to get you, and also Eleven. They thought you'd be more likely to give in, because you're a girl and because you'd already proven that I could get under your skin…"

His tone is incredibly apologetic and he winces slightly, looking like he's expecting me to be angry. I just motion for him to continue, not really caring what Cato's mentors think of me. Besides, Cato did get under my skin.

"It was Enobaria's idea to try and spin it as an offer of protection. She thought it was stupid that Titan was so set on me intimidating you," his cheeks flush slightly and he looks down, taking my hand in his and playing with my fingers absently as he avoids my eye, "He… he ordered me to make you that offer at the interviews. He thought that you were playing hard to get because you actually… er… didn't hate me nearly as much as you made out," he coughs uncomfortably and grimaces as if this is causing him physical pain, "He thought you were a certain type of girl… I guess we have a lot of girls that seem like you in District Two… but er… you're really nothing like them.

"The… the er, elevator… that was definitely not part of the plan and I swear that it happened exactly like I told you before… because, er… I didn't hate you… at all… which they didn't know when they told me to get you into the Pack whatever it took. You were supposed to be the one with feelings, not me… I guess they failed in that part of their training of me," he finishes lamely, glancing up at me once and then firmly fixing his gaze on our hands and clearing his throat, "I just mean… I shouldn't have blindly followed those orders. I didn't think it would work and I didn't want to do it, but I did and I'm… I apologise."

I take a moment to digest this. Cato clearly expects me to be angry, but I'm not. I'm under no delusions about the nature of the Game we're in. Manipulative and underhand strategies are the way you win. Seems to me that Johanna was subtly playing a similar angle. The more I think about it, the more I feel like Cato and I are just chess pieces being pushed around a board. Even our mentors were playing with us! Plus his words reassure the small self-doubting part of me that Cato's emotions are real. This isn't a fantasy that's been created for the drama and sponsors.

We didn't mean for this to happen. Our mentors didn't mean for this to happen. In fact, it was a stupid thing to happen seeing as only one of us could win. Both of us tried to fight against it, we'd both hurt the other, we'd tried to stay away from each other and pushed each other away. Only it hadn't worked and the rebellious side of me was rather smug and amused by it all.

"Johanna is going to be so livid," I say quietly and then as I think about it more I can't help but throw back my head and laugh, "Cato, we screwed up so badly! Our mentors had grand ideas about how we'd subtly or not so subtly get into each others heads and completely screw each other up, but we utterly ruined their plans! I didn't even really know that's what Johanna was aiming for until it was pointed out to me and you—" I'm laughing too hard to finish and clutch at Cato's hand.

He peers at me incredulously, looking incredibly stunned by my reaction until slowly a smirk tugs at his lips, "So those skin tight, revealing clothes were to mess with me?"

"Yes," I acknowledge, my laughter gone as I frown slightly, "I didn't exactly get a choice about that. I don't really know how to be sexy or flirty or sweet or whatever it is she wanted me to be… she threw a plate at my head when she heard what happened at training and that was the end of her telling me about any strategies she had. Honestly, I sort of winged the interview, all my energy was focused on walking in those stupid shoes."

"Ah so escorting you back to your seat was chivalrous then?"

"Oh definitely," I deadpan.

"I'm glad we fucked up," Cato declares after a moment, looking thoughtful, "Even if…"

"We're stupid idiots who end in dramatic, televised tragedy?" I suggest wryly.

Cato smirks, "That shouldn't be funny," he sniggers.

"It's funny because it's so true," I smile, moving close so I can lean against him, "We're stupid for doing this and the only way it can end is in tragedy!" I scoff, "And they said Twelve were the star-crossed lovers!"

"It's kinda tragic that Lover Boy's hung up on someone who wouldn't think twice about killing him."

I think Katniss would have second thoughts about killing him, but I also think that she would do it if it meant she could go home, "I guess it's also tragic because they actually knew each other before. I mean, if he'd had the guts, they could have been together when they were reaped."

Cato laughs again, "You know, I think that makes them stupider than we are! This is our only chance, if you hadn't been reaped and I hadn't volunteered we never would have met. They had years to be happy."

"Is it wrong for me to be jealous of them for that?" I ask quietly, "I mean, we're in the Hunger Games and I'm jealous that Katniss Everdeen knows so much more about Peeta than I know about you, despite the fact she doesn't care?"

"I'm just jealous Lover Boy got to see his girl everyday, his whole life."

"Aw," I coo teasingly, though I'm actually rather touched, "Does that make me 'your girl'?"

Cato just smirks and tightens his arms around me, "Obviously. Did I not make that clear?"

"Okay," I snicker, "You definitely did. Calling me 'your girl' is just a lot more adorable than rattling off some rubbish about how I belong to you."

"Adorable?" he questions is bemusement, "You think I'm adorable?"

"Obviously, did I not make that clear?" I tease him, twisting in his arms to grin at him.

"Adorable?" he questions again, a silly smile coming onto his face, "I have never been called adorable before."

Before I can laugh he presses his lips directly to mine, "Even if we're stupid," he rumbles, "I'd rather die tomorrow than have lived my whole life and have never met you Rosilda Aspen."

A cheeky retort was on the tip of my tongue, but the openness in Cato's face makes me choke it down. He hasn't grown up like I did, it isn't normal for him to try and verbalise affection, but he's trying. More than the words, it's this that makes warmth surge through my whole body. I press closer to him, cradling his face in my hands, and try not to drown in the intense emotions that swirl in his eyes.

"I never thought I'd be this happy again," I whisper to him, tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of my finger, "I never thought I'd get to feel _this_."

The comprehension in his eyes tells me he's understood. A week ago, he'd told me he wasn't sure he'd ever know what love meant.

"I didn't think I deserved to," I finish in a whisper that seems to ghost into the dark night. It's one of my deepest secrets, one I've never vocalised, one that comes from the very twisted, scarred and black place inside me.

Cato's arms tighten around me and his huge, rough hands come up to cradle my face as if it's as fragile as glass. His gaze captures me, making my heat race and my breath hitch. It's impossible to feel embarrassed by his intense scrutiny. He makes me feel like I'm whole. Like I'm beautiful in more ways than the Capitol and Wren Barclay could see. He makes that dark, scarred place feel a little less twisted, he makes me feel like I don't have to put up a mask. He's safety and acceptance and…

"I don't have a name for this," his voice is low and gravelly and I can detect a hint of frustration beneath the determined way he holds my gaze.

I press even closer to him and his breath hitches, his hands moving over my face as he seems to drink it in. His eyes are filled with need, a pained yearning that I might give my soul to fill.

"I do," I whisper to him, my eyes filled with promise.

I don't know which of us moves, but when our lips connect I can't help but gasp. I can feel the yearning hunger in him, the passion, the intense emotion he can't name, because he's never experienced love before… it sets my skin on fire, makes my heart race and a similar throbbing hunger grow deep within me. My hand migrate to his hair pulling him closer even as I press all my weight against him. I want to give all of myself to him, I want to show him exactly what this sort of love means… but not tonight.

The Capitol owns us, but they won't own that.

 **...**

 **I promise the action picks up again next chapter, but I wanted to give some more time to character and relationship development. There's no point declaring two characters are in love if they've barely interacted, and these conversations between Rose and Cato needed to happen at some point. This felt like the right moment and I didn't want to force them later on!**

 **The next chapter should be up faster! I'm part-way through the final rewrite of it, so then just gotta edit it! Currently thinking this story will be about 32 chapters long, but honestly these characters have a mind of their own, so we'll se what it actually ends up like!**

 **Thank you so much to you all for the continued support! Please let me know what you think! I love any feedback!**

 **-xx**


	26. Chapter 26

**A.N: Sooo this chapter starts out kinda slow, but I promise it makes up for it by the end! This is it folks! Buckle up and I hope you're ready! ;)**

 *** Chapter Twenty-Six ***

The next day is much the same. The storm continues and Cato and I stay holed up in the cornucopia. It's nice to have a respite, though Cato and I agree it's to give Peeta a chance to get better before the final showdown. It has the added bonus of helping me heal too and with a steady supply of Capitol medicine, my arrow wound is slowly closing over and my ribs no longer ache.

"I think it's for us too," I smirk and start kissing along Cato's jawline.

"Then they're trying to drive me crazy," Cato growls, nosing aside the strap of my bra to have full access to my collarbone.

While I would happily spend all day kissing Cato, we are mindful of the eyes of the country on us, and of how easily we are distracted by each other. I don't really want to be killed because we didn't notice someone sneaking up on us. So, we sharpen our weapons. I sort our supplies. He paces the cornucopia. By early afternoon however I'm going stir crazy and propose a short trip down to the lake to refill our water bottles. Cato agrees, but he insists we put on the body armour sent for him and Clove. He calls it 'our armour' and hands me Clove's as if it were meant for me.

I hold it for a long moment and trace my fingers over her name on the wall before putting it on. Clove was half a foot shorter than me and much more petite in every way, but I don't tell Cato I'm worried it won't fit, because he's pretending it was always meant for me. And maybe it was, because the skintight material stretches almost easily over my frame. I'm somewhat dubious about it's durability, but Cato assures me with slightly alarming intensity that an arrow won't be able to pierce it. I put my clothes back on over the top, both because the armour doesn't leave much to imagination and because the element of surprise might let us kill Katniss before she realises her arrows can't hurt us.

We don't see any sign of the pair from Twelve for the rest of the day, but I manage to spear a fish with surprising ease and Cato shocks me by knowing exactly how to clean and gut it, "We don't just learn how to swing a sword and act like an arse," he tells me.

I can tell he's a bit offended, so I make sure to compliment his fire on how it burns so much better than anything I've been able to create.

"Maybe I should have taught you that in Training too," he smirks.

"You were too busy _acting like an arse_ to actually do anything at a survival station," I remind him with an eye-roll as I open a parachute package which has another loaf of bread.

This time it's a smoky one from my district that almost has a hint of pine in it's scent. Johanna's note reminds me that arrogance gets you killed and is probably a timely reminder because I'm definitely getting comfortable in the cornucopia. With Cato and the cosy little shelter, I've felt almost safe the last few days.

"What did you do in training?" Cato asks me with a frown as we tuck into our meal.

I'm confused for a moment, then I laugh as I realise Cato probably thought I disappeared all the time from the Training Centre,"I sat up the top of the roof and watched everyone else," I admit with a chuckle, "I like being up high."

Cato's face tells me he thinks that's crazy and his words reinforce it, "You climbed up to the roof and sat up there like a fucking bird?"

I smirk at his disbelief and nod, "Secrets are a valuable trade and I learnt a lot by watching. A few people knew I was up there, but most had no idea."

"Who?" he asks with surprise.

"Brinna saw me watching," I say and smile as I recall our first conversation, "that's when I knew I was right to be looking out for her. You'd be surprised how few people look up. She was smart and she was a survivor."

Cato nods contemplatively, "Clove said she was always watching. She was sure that she was lurking around the cornucopia, said she'd gotten used to feeling the eyes on her and knew she was still watching us. I thought she was being paranoid."

"She wasn't just watching," I tell him proudly, "she figured out your booby-trap and was nicking your food."

Cato's mouth falls open and then he scowls and shakes his head, "That was a disaster from the start! Just proves you can't trust District Three! Titus always said that, but it sounded like such a good idea…"

I smile because it sounds like some sort of District Two superstition and continue, "Rue found me up there and sat with me once. After the knife incident she'd seek me out to talk to me. I think she really missed her family, she loved talking about them and mine too. She said I was the sort of big sister she wanted to be."

I feel my lips turn down as I think of how she had her whole life snatched away from her and how distraught her beloved family must be. Then my thoughts turn to her district partner. I doomed the tributes from Eleven as surely as if I'd planned their executions, "Thresh didn't like me talking to her," I whisper and hang my head as the bread gets stuck in my throat, "he said I was drawing attention to her, that I'd get her killed. That's why he didn't like me and maybe he was right… she never should have been in the bloodbath," I add quietly, but don't say anything else for fear of angering the Capitol, "you know it was actually Rue who stole your knife?"

Cato's eyebrows lift and he smiles slightly, "She must have deserved that seven."

I smile softly and sadly, recalling the mischievous streak I'd sensed and seen in Rue, "She did," I say simply and think of all the other things Rue deserved. Brinna deserved. Linden deserved. All of us. We all deserved so much more than we'd got.

"Tomorrow we should start looking for Twelve," Cato says some time later, breaking the comfortable silence we'd settled into.

His arm tightens around my shoulders and I know he wants this over with as much as I do. I nod and consider the pair from Twelve. Peeta sort of reminded me of Linden, we could have been friends I think. We weren't though, we were enemies and I owed him nothing. Katniss I owed a good right hook, her I'd easily kill. The Gamemakers' twisted sense of irony about Everdeen's nickname had seen them start that forest fire, it shouldn't have been Linden who died in it.

"I want the Girl-On-Fire," I murmur and meets Cato's gaze.

His jaw tightens but his gaze is steady. Like me, he sees her as a personal grudge to settle, she killed Clove. He doesn't say that though, instead stating, "I've been gunning for her from the start."

I find myself smirking at him a little disconcertingly as I nod my acknowledgment of this statement and then warn him, "If I have an opening, I'm not going to hold off swinging. You aren't the only one she's burned."

Cato considers this and then nods, "Lover-Boy betrayed the Pack. Give them a good show with Katniss. Fire-Girl can't be snuffed out too fast."

I know he's warning me what the Capitol will want to see and I nod, because I honestly wouldn't mind a bit of a drawn-out fight with Katniss Everdeen. He's right about an axe to her head seeming too fast. I'm also not surprised at Cato's decision. He'd allowed Peeta into his pack, treated him as an ally, fed him, protected him, trusted him to some extent. Peeta had betrayed that trust, broken the honour between the Career's. Cato had been the pack leader, Peeta was still one of his. A rogue that needed to be put down. I understood that and I thought there was a noble sort of honour in it, an unwritten code that said Peeta was Cato's to take care of.

"He's still one of yours," I say aloud, to show Cato I understand.

He nods and I snuggle into his side as we gaze into the fire. We're in unspoken agreement that no price is too big to ensure we leave this arena together, but the thought that this could be the last night we ever have with each other makes me press to him as close as I can.

"Only together," I whisper and he turns to look at me, his eyes glinting and his jaw clenched with determination.

He doesn't speak, only presses his lips to mine. A long passionate, promising kiss filled with need and dependence, because at this point, we're addicted. I can't live without him and through the way he crushes me to him, wrapping me in arms that seem to never want to let me go, I know he feels the same.

We're leaving the arena together, or we're not leaving at all.

 **…**

The rain stops when dawn comes and the difference in sound immediately wakes me from my sleep. I'm tense for a while as I watch the world slowly brighten, but nothing rushes out of the forest at us and the meadow is empty save for a few birds. Even in sleep Cato's arm is still around me and his face is pressed into the crook of my neck, my back flush against his front. It still surprises me to wake up in someone's arms and the surprise still turns to pleasure as my brain wakes up. I like the way he holds me. It makes me feel safe and protected, something I didn't realise I was craving so much.

We don't get any food sent to us this morning, which strikes me as odd because Cato and I mean to end this today. I make a sweet stew using dandelions and overripe berries and some mint leaves I find. It's thin and watery, but it's enough to fill our stomachs with something warm. I can tell Cato doesn't much like the taste and I smirk at him as I finish my serving, "I said you could eat the dandelions. I didn't say they tasted nice!"

Cato gulps down some water with an expression of disgust, "I've had worse."

I have too, but it surprises me that Cato can admit that so easily. Districts One through Four are supposed to be the richest and less impoverished. Cato is the stone in their district's sword, surely he would have got the best available? It reminds me that before he joined or was recruited from the Academy, he must have had a life, a family. Even if it wasn't much of one, he must have come from somewhere and I want to know where it was. I want to know and understand everything about him. Now isn't the time though and I roll up our sleeping bags as Cato puts out our fire.

We arm ourselves to the extreme. Cato insists I take all of Clove's throwing knives and I strap the spear I have been reunited with to my back. My remaining axe sits comfortably on my hip with the comfortable familiarity of home. Cato is even more loaded down with weapons, though each is calculatingly placed, the weight balanced and the handles easy to grab. The swords he has crossed over his shoulders are probably both too heavy for me to wield and my eyes are drawn to their wicked length as I walk behind him across the meadow. We want to move fast, so our pockets are filled with only a few essential items: drink bottles and iodine, night-vision glasses and some first aid supplies. We don't intend to return to the cornucopia, I am confident I can find exactly where I last saw Peeta and Katniss wouldn't have been able to move him far.

We move at a fast pace, jogging for ten minutes, walking for ten and then running again. Cato says it's the best way to cover ground and reserve energy and I'm happy enough to go along with it. Under the armour, we're both sweltering hot and we're dripping with sweat in no time. Reassured that we're moving straight for the river, we drink greedily to prevent dehydration. We reach it when the sun is at it's peak, the current is fast and angry after the storm and I'm glad we don't have to cross it. It takes another half hour before I find the place I left Peeta, but it's there that we finally stop.

There's nothing to prove it is the right place, no signs of human presence, but we're on guard and I make sure to keep my voice hushed as I note, "Even if the rain hadn't washed everything away, I know nothing about tracking."

Cato's annoyance tells me he doesn't know enough either and he mutters a curse word as we search the nearby undergrowth, "He wouldn't have got far," I'm determined of that, "his leg was bad and she's too small to carry him."

"You got me pretty far," Cato reminds me dubiously.

I choose to not point out the fact I have a good thirty pounds on Katniss Everdeen, "You were out cold in a coma, we would have heard his screams if she dragged him like I did you."

We move up the riverbank, slowly and quietly, our weapons at the ready. My every instinct is telling me they should be here, but there's no denying they aren't. Cato wants to wait and stake them out, thinking they might be out hunting or looking for food. I'm doubting my certainty that I've lead us to the right place and that Peeta was as bad as I thought, "Maybe they're looking for us," I say and a shiver goes down my spine, because the first place they'd go would be the cornucopia.

Cato meets my eye for a moment and then shakes his head firmly, "His leg can't have gotten better that fast. They can't have moved as fast as us."

The wonders of Capitol medicine makes me want to argue, because my own wounded leg is now little more than a scar. I don't however because it's comforting to think like Cato.

We return to the cornucopia, hot and tired and Cato amends his plan to decide we're going to wait them out. They're going to come to us.

He's intently focused on our goal now and I have to work hard to get him to agree to sleep. He's determined to hold vigil all night and because I don't trust him to wake me, I insist on taking first watch. He doesn't take my insistence gracefully, but I ignore his muttering as he settles down to sleep far away from me. We have no fire tonight, no easy target for them to shoot at. The night-vision glasses allow me to vigilantly scour the meadow for any sign of movement, but they don't keep me warm and I'm shivering violently within an hour. If I make it out of these Games, and have to mentor future tributes they will be getting an earful about never turning down warm clothing. I internally curse myself, Glimmer and the Girl-on-Fire as I mourn my lack of jacket and it gives me something to do as I keep watch. It is a cloudy and overcast night, with no moon or stars to be seen, but when I judge it to be the eery stillness of the hours after midnight, I stumble my way over to Cato as promised and gently shake him awake with numb, frozen fingers.

"It's your t-turn," I tell him soothingly, because he immediately reaches for his sword, "There's b-been nothing all n-night."

He nods curtly, telling me he's still annoyed and doesn't speak as he gets up. My teeth chatter uncontrollably and my entire body is raked with tremors as I fumble with the zip on my sleeping bag. I had been sitting as much in it as I could while keeping watch, but my fingers are too numb to zip it further up. Cato stiffly reaches to help me with it and his fingers brush mine as he does.

"Fuck, Rose! You're freezing!" he exclaims, his warm hand catching my aching one and using it to pull me close to him. He scowls as he wraps his arms around me, but can't hold me tight enough to stop my shivers. "Why didn't you say something?" He demands angrily, "You could've had my fucking jacket!"

I know he's angry at himself for not thinking of it and worried about me, so I press myself closer to his delicious warmth and meekly whisper, "I'm sorry."

He grumbles under his breath and wraps me up in my sleeping bag, carrying me with him to the mouth of the cornucopia. He leans his back against the metal and sits with me curled between his legs, one arm holds me close to his chest and the other grips the handle of his sword. I turn my cold face into his shoulder and whisper, "Thank you."

He doesn't respond, his eyes already searching the darkness for an enemy and my eyelids droop as slowly warmth seeps back into my toes and fingers. Just as I'm about to fall asleep he leans down and kisses the top of my head, "Good night Rose."

"G'night," I mumble back and when I drift off, it's with a small smile on my face.

 **…**

"It's gotta be today," Cato growls and paces as I stuff a waterfowl with some rosemary and thyme, "We have to be getting boring."

I snort and carefully fix the spit over the fire Cato built me before he started his rant. I'd hoped to get him to clean the carcass too, but he hadn't taken my silent hints and I had elected not to interrupt his long winded explanation of exactly how many times past games had continued longer than twenty four hours with only four tributes - only twice - or how our entertainment value matched up with other games - apparently not well.

"I don't know," I muse aloud before I can stop myself, "I reckon we're pretty entertaining."

Cato blinks at me, stopping mid word; I take this as permission to continue and use it as an opportunity to distract Cato from his raving.

"I mean, maybe our arena isn't particularly glamorous, but I've certainly done my best to keep things interesting," I glance up at him through my eyelashes and wipe my hands on my trousers, slowly rising to my feet, "I certainly hope _you_ haven't been getting bored?"

He doesn't reply as I arch an eyebrow and slowly move towards him, my steps prowling and voice low, "I mean… there are ways I could spice things up, heighten our entertainment value," I tell him in a breathy voice, relishing the gobsmacked way he's staring at me, "I've thought about so many exciting things we could do," I trail a finger lightly down his chest and he gulps visibly, "but then again," I look up at him with a devious smirk, pressing my body against his, "I don't really want to share you with anyone… you'd rather keep me all to yourself too, right?"

For a long moment Cato stares at me, his eyes dark and his heart beating rapidly under my hand, then his nostrils flare and his face twists into a scowl, "It's not funny Rose."

I finally let the laughter I've been containing spill out as he crosses his arms and glares, "You're so easy to rile up," I snicker, "you know they aren't prolonging the Games just to annoy you… we'll have all the time in the world Cato," my laughter dies and sudden vulnerability hits me as I shyly add, "In here it's just us, I can almost pretend there's nobody else watching. I… it's be nice to have this," I gesture between the two of us and then wave a hand to vaguely encompass the area.

Luckily Cato seems to understand because his eyes soften and he reaches for me, "I have you all to myself," he articulates my inner thoughts and I nod into his chest, hiding my reddening face.

"Does that make us selfish and awful?" I wonder, and then realise it's a stupid question because of course we're selfish and awful - we've killed other children because we want to be the ones to leave the arena.

"Sometimes it's okay to be selfish and awful," Cato states simply and then with a bark of laughter, purrs into my ear, "I like it when you're selfish and awful."

He makes it sexual and I laugh but push myself away from him, "You like me full stop," I say smugly.

Cato snorts, "Yeah, but you love me so…"

I pretend to think about it and then shake my head, "Nah."

He laughs and shakes his head, "Yes you do…"

"Nope," we're wrapped around each other again, but I still shake my head in denial.

Cato's eyes narrow and I shriek in an extremely undignified manner when he suddenly pokes at my sides. Despite my laughter, instinct takes over and I trip Cato, sending him crashing to the ground as I try to evade him. He grabs my ankle before I can run away and pulls me down on top of him, rolling to try and get me pinned. I continue to wriggle and fight for a while as he tickles me mercilessly and almost succeed in getting to my feet again, giggling madly, but eventually I let him get me beneath him. He tortures me for only a few moments then kisses my nose and sits back to grin at me, "You gave up."

"No," I giggle.

"Yes," he edges and his grin widens, "You gave in!"

I begin to realise why he's so happy and laugh at him, "Well… if I beat you, you'd have pouted all day—"

"No," he shakes his head at me, eyes dancing with mischievous humour, "You like being trapped underneath me, don't you Rose?"

He's trying to catch me off guard and make me squirm like I did him, but though my cheeks heat up, I fight back easily, lowering my voice to a sultry purr, "Between you and any hard surface really…"

I've managed to shock him again and I laugh as he gapes, though he does recover faster than before, "Hmm, I quite like you in that position too."

"Yes, but as I said, you just like me."

He smirks, "Bit more than just like actually."

"Really?" I ask, playing long with him by pretending to be confused, "So you… adore me?"

"I adore you," he confirms and a rush of pure joy floods my system, making me laugh with delight, "And…you?"

"And I love you," I admit, with pretend reluctance, then melt into the kiss he draws me into.

I pull away to tend to our lunch and pointedly ignore Cato's snide comments about my ability to clean a carcass, "Butchering is a figure of speech, not a goal, love," he teases and then goes to retrieve the parachute we've been sent, "It's for you… I think my mentors have disowned me," he muses.

"Nah, Johanna probably just bullied them into giving her your money to send stuff to both of us," I say lightly, though I wonder if there was a hint of real emotion behind Cato's words, "What does she say?"

"She says: 'Stop being disgusting and get on with it Thorns'. See! She agrees this needs to end already!"

"Let's see?" I reach to take the note from him and pretend to read it with a snort, "No it doesn't! It's got 'jealous' written all over it!"

Cato snorts, but refuses to laugh, even when I tease him for being scared of Johanna. I finish cooking the meat and we eat it with the bread we've been sent. It's only as I'm stamping out the fire that I realise the sun is beginning to sink behind the trees.

"Cato," my voice alerts him at once and he's tense and serious beside me immediately, "the sun's setting… it can't be past two."

His arm draws me to his side protectively and his eyes scan the meadow carefully, "It's starting."

 **…**

We're a blur of action after that. I have one pack filled with essential survival supplies, ready at our feet just in case. Cato shoves the rest of our things inside the mouth of the cornucopia as I tightly rebraid my hair off my face. While Cato sharpens his favourite sword I fuss anxiously over Clove's throwing knives. By the time night has fully set in we stand silent and vigilant, scouring the meadow with our night glasses enhanced vision.

We must wait for over an hour.

It's a feeling in the air that stirs me more than anything else, I suck in a sharp breath and reach for Cato's hand. For a moment we're tense, eyes straining and ears pricked, then loud and clear, a howl shatters the silence. The scars on my stomach ache immediately in response and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

"Should we—"

Before I can finish the thought, Katniss and Peeta suddenly burst out of the trees on the far side of the meadow. They're sprinting for their lives, terror etched on every part of their face. My grip on Cato tightens and I drag him back before he can spring forward. The things that erupt from the forest behind them are pure nightmares.

"Go!" Cato roars and I barely snatch up our survival pack with my free hand as he pushes me back.

He practically throws me up onto the cornucopia and then hurries to scramble up himself. We're still clutching each other as we stare numbly at the scene unfolding before us, "You just had to insult their entertainment value," I spit, not taking my eyes off the muttations chasing the pair from Twelve. The closest thing they resemble is a wolf, but of course the Capitol have mutated them to be bigger, uglier, scarier and a whole lot more blood thirsty. Cato growls, his eyes fixed on Katniss who has almost reached the cornucopia now. She's left Peeta far behind without seeming to realise. I know Cato is longing to act, but he knows as well as I do that we have to give the Capitol the show they want. Katniss pauses at the bottom of the horn, apparently remembering she's part of a team. Her cry of fear as she sees how close the mutts are to Peeta makes Cato twitch beside me, but he only lunges forward when Katniss draws her bow and starts sending arrows into the pack on Peeta's heels. Not even one of the mutts falls, despite all her arrows finding targets.

I grab Cato's arm as Peeta roars at Katniss to climb and she hurries to comply, "She's mine," I remind him with a devilish smirk that's only mostly for the cameras.

When he doesn't respond I tear my eyes away from where Katniss is hauling herself up and realise Cato is looking at the mutts, not at Twelve. I steel myself against the horror and turn to scan them more carefully.

"Are they…" I trail off in disbelief as one of the wolves rears up onto its hind legs and tries to lunge at Peeta.

 _They're bipedal._

The more I stare, the more unnerving their appearance becomes. Their fur ranges from jet black and curly to golden blonde and shiny… like Glimmer's hair. Another scan tells me there are exactly twenty mutts and I have to tear my eyes away and stop that train of thought in its tracks to prevent hysteria from claiming me. Surely not even the Capitol would—

My hand closes around Cato's and squeezes, "What if they can climb?" I ask in a carefully quiet voice.

It gives Cato a problem to solve and he tears his eyes away from the mutts to scan the area, "Then we run like hell and hope they can't swim," he decides and I follow his gaze to the lake.

"Maybe we should take care of as many of them as we can first," I say, checking back on Katniss who is helping Peeta clamber onto the horn and gasping for breath.

Cato hesitates and then shakes his head, squeezing my hand and then releasing it, "No, Twelve is going down and they're going down hard," his jaw tightens determinedly and with one last lingering glance at me the mask of a cold, ruthless and slightly psychotic killer covers his face.

Katniss screams in wild and horrified terror and my heart sinks when I see she's staring at the mutts too. The blonde one has just made a leap at the horn and I register quickly that their claws can't grip the metal before Katniss manages to articulate her terror, "It's her! It's them. It's all of them!"

Cato steps forward, he doesn't bother drawing his sword. Peeta is unarmed and Katniss seems to only have her bow and very few arrows left. _Arrogance is the quickest way to die, Thorns…_

I draw my daggers.

"The other tributes!" Katniss stumbles back as the mutts renew their assault on the cornucopia, "The collars! Their eyes!"

Peeta gasps in horrified recognition and asks something I don't hear over the growling of the mutts; Cato is closing in and I know it'll be my job to subdue the Girl on Fire. The cause of Linden's death is fresh in my memory and something inside me viciously roars for revenge as I plant a smirk on my face. Cato seizes Peeta around the neck and yanks him backwards roughly while my hand closes around Katniss' braid and tugs cruelly. I drag her to the ground, my knife at her throat as she shrieks and flails. She almost manages to hit me with her bow and remembering how much it hurt last time I twist her arm roughly until I knock the weapon from her hand, "I wouldn't try that again, if I were you," I hiss in her ear, pressing my knife hard enough to her neck that she whimpers in pain and stop struggling.

"The Girl-on-Fire, huh?" I taunt, shoving Katniss hard to the ground and delivering a swift, winding kick to her stomach and then another to crack her ribs, "Unlikable, selfish bitch but an expert archer? What did you do for that eleven? Set the arrows on fire?"

Katniss still manages to glare as she desperately tries to get her breath back, "What did you do for that ten?" she gasps, her eyes hard and hateful, "take your clothes off?"

I see red and I'm on top of her in a second. My closed fist bloodies her nose and she cries out before I slam my elbow against her throat and press my knife to her cheek. She convulses under me and it's her own movement that cuts her cheek as she tries to throw me off so she can breathe. I hold firm and the knife slips cruelly against her ear when she thrashes again, but even the surprise of this doesn't loosen my grip. It's only Cato's sudden cry of pain that distracts me, she sucks in a desperate breath and her arm flies wildly as I struggle to pin it once again. It's a mistake that reveals I've never actually trained to be in a life or death situation and it costs me. Luck is on Katniss' side, because she manages to knock the knife from my hand with another blind swing of her arm. I bare my teeth and stab my fingers at her half mutilated ear. She screams and her own fingernails gouge desperately at my cheek.

The pain makes me renew my efforts and I viciously use my superior weight and strength to lift and then smash her head brutally on the metal, "I'm getting real tired of you Twelve!" I spit, holding her down and looking quickly for my knife, "any last words for your sister?"

Katniss' face settles into a defiant mask though her gaze is extremely unfocused, "Why didn't you just join the Careers?" She spits, her words slurred and thick. She tries one last time to throw me off her as I snatch up my knife.

"ROSE!"

I'm slammed from the side and knocked away from Katniss to the very edge of the cornucopia. The body on top of me is dragged off at once and I get a glimpse of Cato's furious face as he wrenches Peeta away from me. His yell warned me enough to tense for impact and I curled on myself to protect my head, but the blow is still startling and surprised pain renders me motionless. I can hear Cato's wordless cries of rage, but it's the yipping barks that shock me back into motion. I roll away just in time to avoid the reaching claws of a small brown mutt. Heart pounding, head spinning and still slightly dazed from the shock of Peeta's tackle, I slowly clamber to my knees. What I see makes me freeze in silent horror. Cato has succeeded in getting Peeta in a headlock and his face is already reddening with lack of oxygen, but Katniss has retrieved her bow. She's drawn the arrow and they've come to a stalemate before I even realise why it's a stalemate. Our armour! She can't shoot Cato… at least nowhere beside his unprotected face and hands. I reach for the second knife in my belt, but Cato just laughs menacingly, taking in Katniss' blood covered face.

"Shoot me and he goes down too Fire-Girl! How much do you really care about Lover-Boy?" Cato taunts, his voice only slightly muffled by the broken nose that ironically matches the one I gave Katniss.

He's got Peeta right in front of him, using him as a human shield, and as he laughs he moves closer to the edge of the horn. I want to scream at him to be careful, but most of the mutts are still on the other side of the cornucopia trying to leap at me and my throat is curiously dry and thick as I struggle to my feet on shaky legs.

The mutts go quiet as I do and the only sound is me pushing myself up, my eyes never once leaving the scene before me. Peeta's lips are slowly turning blue and his eyes flutter. Katniss is motionless, her arms trembling from the effort of holding the fully drawn bow straight. I wonder if she can even see straight after all the blows to her head, how much does she trust her aim? She doesn't notice as I finally succeed in getting my legs under myself. As Cato's eyes flick automatically to me and Peeta silently saves his life, she fails to realise there's another person in play.

I think I'm the first to realise what Peeta is trying to say as he draws the 'X' on Cato's unprotected hand. Probably because I just catalogued every vulnerable part of my partner's body. I'm fast, but Katniss must realise only a split second after me, because by the time my hastily thrown knife lodges in her shoulder, she's already released the arrow.

I see it happen in slow-motion. The arrow hits the very edge of Cato's armour, skims and falls away, but the cut and Peeta slamming back into Cato as he recoils is enough. Cato's fist clenches onto Peeta and I lunge forward desperately, but they're both falling and by the time my grasping hand is there, it's snatching at empty space.

"CATO!" My scream is a heartbroken wail, because to fall from the cornucopia seems like a death sentence, but then I remember the armour! The same armour that I'm wearing, it'll give him a chance... give both of us a chance.

My eyes fixate on his blonde head, a paler shade to Peeta's dark gold. He recovers with speed that only comes from training and manages to draw his second sword before a mutt is on him. He's bowled to the ground and for a moment he disappears under it's furry body. I scream again and clamber to my feet, this time an answering groan of pain comes from him and I see him struggle to push the dead body off him.

 _He needs me._

That's as much coherent thought that goes into my decision. I don't spare a single thought for Katniss, simply draw my axe and fling myself off the cornucopia and onto the back of one of the largest mutts. The momentum makes my axe sink into it's neck with no resistance and I roll to my feet as it crumples beneath me with a dying whine. On the ground, the mutts are huge; the smallest only slightly smaller than Cato and all of them are much larger than me.

It seems to take years to get to Cato's side, but in reality it can only be a few moments. I've already killed another and wounded one more by the time I reach him. My arms are already aching, my entire body is pumped with adrenaline which makes my heart race faster than I thought possible. Little thought can exist in the state of mind numbing terror I am gripped by, the only word I can form is his name. Aside from that it's only feral shrieks coming from my throat.

I lose my axe just as I reach him and if I'd lost it earlier it probably would have meant my death. Cato shields me for the split second it takes to draw my spear and I hear my own name echoed as I scream his in desperation. He shoves me behind him frantically and for a moment we're protecting each other's backs, then Cato's yanked away. Agony ripples through my body as jaws close around my calf. The armour protects me from the mutts teeth, but not from the power of its jaw. I react without thought my spear going straight between its eyes. The crushing strength ceases, probably just in time to save my bones from snapping. I yank my spear out with a grunt; immediately whirling to look for Cato. He's been flung several meters from the fray and my spear is quickly sent soaring into the flank of the gracile copper furred mutt stalking him as he struggles to his feet. Cato finishes it off with a swing of his broadsword as I reach for another weapon.

I have only Clove's knives left; I take one in each hand and will myself to fight with the same intensity she would.

It seems that for every mutt we take down, there are two to take it's place. I completely lose Cato in the fray and I can barely spare a thought for him as I fight for my life. Blood makes my hands slick and slippery and my whole body throbs with agony as I somehow make my way back to the cornucopia and place the metal at my back. It makes it easier not to be overwhelmed, but twice I crumple to the ground and manage to get my feet by clawing my way up the metal wall. I lose another knife and throw one to finish off a wounded mutt and in a brief moment of weariness I wonder when Clove's supply will run out. More times than countable I would have lost limbs had it not been for the armour protecting me from the razor sharp teeth and claws of the mutts and it's as I'm close to exhaustion that I suddenly remember… where's Peeta? He didn't have armour.

The thought jars me from my rhythm and I get knocked to the ground again. I cover my head with my armoured arms and cry out as I endure the latest attack. This mutt really wants to pick me up, and it bites at my back and shoulders before catching one of my arms and flinging me like a rag doll. It's as I'm picking myself up from this that I spot him; Peeta. He'd managed to get to the mouth of the horn and it seems by protecting himself from three sides by the metal walls, he's managed to hold his own. He has a sword in his hand that must have been Cato's and there's three carcasses almost blocking the entrance. As I watch he staggers and manages to steady himself on the wall for a moment before crumpling to the ground. His body is hidden behind the mutts and I have to return my attention to the monsters biting and tearing at me. If Peeta has killed three, we must have halved the number of wolves, but it certainly doesn't feel like it. Time after time I am sent sprawling and I can barely see past blood in my eyes. I'm covered in thick, foul smelling muttation blood, but some has to be mine too.

Exhaustion makes it hard to hold my arms up and I wonder if the next time I get knocked down, I won't get back up. The world spins and for a moment I almost fall, then I see another body on the ground. He's curled on his side, face down. His blonde hair is unrecognisable, it's covered in blood and gore, but I know him. The muttation standing over him howls in triumph. It's a lean, but tall and muscly male with light brown fur and green eyes that narrow when they swing to me.

I gasp and it's like a knife straight to my heart. With the eyes narrowed in hatred and darkened by murderous rage they're almost unrecognisable… almost. The mutt growls warningly at me and then bends it's head to tear at Cato's body, trying to break through the armour to get to flesh and blood. The roar that leaves my throat is animalistic. The way I attack is completely primal, fuelled by passion, instinct and rage. It's a final surge of adrenaline that gives me the energy to sprint to make my arms and legs move and my throat burn with the volume of my war cry.

"You can't have him!" I scream, my voice ragged and broken as one by one my knives sink into the blood-matted fur.

I seize Cato's sword off the ground and drive it deep into it's chest, the entire force of my weight and remaining strength behind the blow that sends blood gushing down my arms. The mutt turns as it roars it's dying breath and lunges for my throat. It's first howl attracted the rest though and they push it aside to get at Cato's prone body as I dive to protect both myself and the boy I love. I cover his head and back with my body and grip him tightly so they can't fling me off to get to him.

They can't have him. They can't have either of them.

My vision goes blurry, but as I turn my head to try and protect it under my arms, I meet the dying eyes of my district partner.

Linden snarls at me; eyes contorted with hatred. Somewhere in the distance I think I hear trumpets and I wonder if Rue really is somewhere with lots of music. It's my last thought before the world goes dark.

 **…**

 _Death fucking hurts._

I'd never been particularly spiritual about the end of life, but my first conscious thought is to be rather peeved to find that the pain I felt in life continues. My second is to wonder at the fact I am consciously thinking.

When I crack my eyes open the blinding whiteness is more in line with what one might expect to discover upon death, but the sharpening to what is very clearly a medical room is more surprising. It takes me an inordinately large amount of time to realise that several people are standing close by and that I am being spoken to.

"Miss Aspen? Miss Aspen, can you hear me?"

It's not until I comprehend the man's words that I'm struck by the realisation that I am not in fact dead, but alive. My throat is dry and hoarse and I only manage a croak when I try and speak, so simply nod my head. The room spins momentarily and I miss what the man says next, but he moves away from my bed and turns to the other people.

 _Where am I?_

If I'm alive that means… I won. But… that means—

An awful sudden keening wail fills my ears. If I'm alive then Cato isn't and if that's the case, then I wish I was dead. The doctors clammer towards me and try to shush me, but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears and my own heartbroken screech. I am utterly limp on the table, but as soon as a restraining hand pushes against my shoulder survival instincts kick in and I knock away the other hand, the one with the weapon.

I'm too weak, too pained to fight as more arms hold me down and when the glint of steel crosses my vision again I stop fighting. _Kill me._ I welcome the blackness, my last thought of the way his icy blue eyes warm and the smile tugs across his rugged face, softening it from marble to a different kind of perfection.

 **...**

 **And there you have it. Please let me know what you think!**

 **Much love and an enormous amount of gratitude for all you amazing readers!**

 **-x**


	27. Chapter 27

*** Chapter Twenty-Seven ***

Tears are spilling down my cheeks before I've even opened my eyes. There's no fogginess this time and I am aware from the moment I wake. The pain is gone too, I feel… numb.

 _I'm alive. Cato must be dead. I won the fucking Hunger Games._

My eyes crack open slightly to take in my surroundings half-heartedly. I'm in a different room this time; one with a proper bed and curtains. There's no doctors, but there is a person slumped over on a chair beside me. I must make some sort of noise because Johanna's eyes snap to me and she quickly straightens.

"Thorns…"

I croak something that vaguely resembles her name and next thing my prickly, emotionally-stunted mentor is pulling me into a crushing, albeit rigid hug, "It's okay," she tells me, her voice harsh and loud to my ears, "It's over, you're out. You won."

The tears come faster, but I hug her back, needing the stability of having something physical to hold on to. I want to ask abut Cato but I can't make my voice work and just croak pathetically again.

"And I don't know what you have to cry about Thorns," Johanna adds in her normal scathing tone, after clearing her throat gruffly, "You both made it."

I go completely still and this time I manage his name, "Cato?"

"He's alive Rose," Johanna pulls away to grin at me and then repeats herself, seeing my disbelief, "Cato is alive."

She cackles with glee as I immediately leap off the bed, letting me race towards the door on stiff unsteady legs and then frown as I realise there's no door handle. I push on it and scowl as I realise it's not going to open from this side, "You think they're gonna let you see him before the interview?" she snickers, "Come on Thorns the whole country is invested in your sickening romance—"

"Jealous Johanna?" I snark without really thinking, still frowning at the door, "How…? Katniss was still…"

I turn to see that Johanna's face has become a careful mask and read the warning in her eyes easily, "They needed a victor and circumstances meant they were losing all of you too quickly. I had to threaten to axe the doctors to find out about Cato, I have no fucking clue about Twelve."

I blink and decide it's best not to ask too many questions, no doubt Johanna and I are being carefully monitored, "When's the interview?" I settle for, my thoughts returning to Cato with a yearning to see for myself that he's alive.

"Now you're awake, we might actually be able to get on with it," Johanna rolled her eyes mockingly, "Not sure how the fuck you managed that training score, because that was some of the sloppiest axe work I have ever seen. You'd have been dead for sure without that body armour, you were practically torn to shreds, it's taken forever to fix you."

I scoff at her, but don't reply as I look down to examine myself for the first time. I'm wearing a paper dress again, like my first time in the prep centre. I am expecting a patchwork of scars and broken skin, instead my skin is pale and unmarred. There's not a bruise, cut or scar in sight. Even the freckles and sunburns I collected in the arena are gone. I turn my wrist to look for the mark that has been with me since Wren Barclay almost killed me and trace the perfect skin in wonder.

"It's gone," I whisper and my throat closes.

My legs fold and I sink to the floor in a heap. I'm not quite sure why I'm crying now. Relief maybe? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm safe now, but the worst has to be over and if nothing else, I no longer have my 'tramp stamp', I'm no longer physically marked by my rapist.

I cry because I'm alive and Cato is too. I cry because even though Capitol doctors can erase the physical evidence of my pain and suffering, I can still feel the taint of violence, death and unnecessary sacrifice on my soul. I cry because I teetered on the cliff of sanity once more and somehow, somehow I once again came back from the brink. Cato's alive; so there's more to me than the killer, the victor. I'm still Rose, still just a girl. I can cling to who I was, the arena didn't completely break me, but Mother of Elm it came close.

The girl who got on the train after the Reapings would be shocked to know that the only reason she didn't break was because of a Career from District Two, a monstrous sized boy who was conditioned to be a sadistic killer, became her constant reminder that there were reasons to live. I didn't think I'd ever be able to depend on somebody else again, didn't think I'd be able to trust completely, to love wholly - and maybe I can't. Maybe what Cato and I have isn't whole, isn't entirely healthy… except I don't care.

I don't give a shit about being dependent on him. I need him and that's okay, because I know without a doubt that he needs me too.

 **...**

"Stand here please Miss Aspen."

The light shove on my back by the stressed out producer is enough to make me tense and adrenaline flood my system. My hand twitches for a weapon and blood thunders in my ears. I don't quite manage to turn my fearful, threatening glare into a charming smile quick enough and she withdraws her hand with a small squeak before I manage to calm myself enough to nod politely.

Marcella scowls at her for me and mutters something about TV industry idiots, "Read up on PTSD you cow," she mumbles, "and get with the bloody times! Those trousers are so obviously from last fall's collection!"

If I wasn't so jittery this might have made me smile, but all I can think about is the fact that I'm going to see Cato within minutes. It's been three days since I woke up and eleven since we were pulled from the arena, a mangled mess. After seeing Johanna I had practically inhaled a plate of food and then fallen asleep again. I slept for another sixteen hours. After that I'd been checked over once more by the doctors and then allowed to see Hillier and Anariel. Both had cried, though this time I had managed to hold myself together. Good thing too because I doubted Johanna would hold back from teasing me if I cried for a third time since I woke up! I'd had to sleep for another thirteen hours after that encounter. While I was in no pain, the deep sense of fatigue that seemed to resonate within every inch of me, was only just starting to wear off. Johanna said it was a normal side affect of having so much biomechanical repair done in such a short time. Since waking most recently I had been in the prep centre.

Marcella had beamed at me and gently kissed my forehead when she saw me. She'd also obviously had words with my prep team because although their excitement was unmissable they didn't crowd me and if one of them got too loud with their squeals the others would hush them bossily. They still chattered away almost non-stop about how cute Cato and I were and how they couldn't wait to see us reunited, but aside from a few comments they didn't speak much of the Games.

"Don't worry Rosilda, we'll make you more gorgeous than you've ever been before!" My prep team had promised, "He'll fall in love with you all over again, Darling!"

Marcella threw me a knowing smile as I thanked them genuinely for their continued support and I resolved to find some way to pay back my stylist for going above and beyond for me.

I'd gone so long without looking in a mirror that the first time I saw myself I was shocked. I'd lost a lot of weight in the arena and my facial features were even more angular with every sliver of fat gone from my cheekbones and jaw. When I frowned I looked terrifying and it made me shudder to think how I appeared in the arena with crazed eyes, a weapon, matted hair and blood and gore splattered skin. Still my prep team had not lied, they did make me look beautiful. They hadn't tried to disguise my thinness, instead they'd given my skin a healthy glow, highlighting my eyes and lips to draw the eye away from my hollow cheeks, but making the whole picture a peculiarly honest one. My lips were pained crimson red, my eyes just as boldly dark and slanted.

I wear a dress that was every bit as seductive as all my others, but there is something very different about this one. Green had been my colour all along, but this one is metallic gold with bold black accents. It has a halter neck done in a chunky black jewels that reminds me alarmingly of a collar. A cut out shows my cleavage in a way that makes it appear I haven't lost weight from there, though I definitely have. The gold fabric is skin tight and shiny, making it look like I am wearing liquid gold. It is completely backless to the waist where it clings to every inch of my backside and thighs, leaving nothing to imagination. My natural hips and tiny waist from near starvation cuts a 'perfect' figure that cleverly disguises most of the unhealthiness about my weight. The dress is tight to mid thigh where a slit reveals my legs, draping them loosely to the ankle and showing off the chunky black heels that Marcella produced. They completely put my interview ones to shame and I am glad the skirt isn't long enough for me to step on. One less thing to worry about in stilettos that had to be at least six inches high! My dark hair has been straightened to fall in a glossy sheet down my back, adding to the black and gold theme that is completed by the black polished jewels clipped to my ears.

I do look gorgeous, but the careful way everything was put together and the way Marcella fluttered anxiously over every detail makes me wonder what the stakes are. It is a beautiful dress, but the way Marcella pursed her lips when I complimented it had made me wonder if it hadn't been her first choice.

"They're going to have to go," Marcella suddenly announces, making me jump as her hand skimmed over my hip, "Claudia get over here!"

I watch warily as the sole woman in my prep team melts from the group of Capitolites nearby and hurries over, Marcella mutters to her, gesturing at me every now and again. Claudia looks distraught and Marcella particularly peeved but the two seem to be in agreement over the issue.

"Panties off," my stylist barks, snapping her fingers at me like it is a perfectly normal request, "even with those ones the VPL is bad."

"What?" I groan, they'd spent half an hour arguing over my lingerie, deciding on a 'seamless' scrap of silk that barely covered anything.

"It's here," Marcella touches my hip again where a string no bigger than a few millimetres holds the underwear together, "nothing will work, you'll have to go without."

"It's the only way," Claudia agrees, already bending down to lift my dress.

At this point Johanna materialises looking harried, "Are you going to tell me we have another fucking problem?" She questions dangerously, glaring at Claudia so hard the woman whimpers as she cowers away.

"VPL, the knickers have to go," Marcella states again, turning to run a cursory glance over the occupants of the room and frowning as she notices how full of people it is. I feel my cheeks start to flush as I notice we're attracting attention as Claudia starts hiking the skirt up again.

"Two minutes till lift!" A man with a microphone headset announces, making my stylist squawk even as Johanna eyes my waist with a scowl and nods her grudging agreement.

"Do try not to flash the whole country Thorns," Johanna smirks snidely as I sigh heavily and hold her shoulder for balance as I start to wriggle the garment off, "OI! Eyes off!" Johanna roars at someone over my shoulder who I assume was staring. I lower my head to hide my blush and think about the fact I'm going to be seeing Cato for the first time since the arena and I'm going to do it with no knickers on. This only makes my cheeks flame more.

"You can hardly blame them Jo," I look up in awe for the male who dares to abbreviate Johanna to her face. It hardly surprises me to see Finnick Odair.

"What are you doing here?" Johanna demands rudely turning her back and moving just as I go to step out of the garment, Marcella grabs me with a gasp to steady me and shoots Johanna a furious look that my mentor ignores completely, "Not got another engagement tonight?"

"Not until later," Finnick says with an easy shrug, grinning at her, "I like to be where the most interesting things are happening and this looks interesting. Just think how your boyfriend would react if he knew," he adds with a snicker as Claudia and I both straighten, her tucking my panties into a small bag she carries. I shake off my embarrassment and straighten my shoulders, flashing him a smirk as he adds, "Slip it into the conversation if you can. His reaction will be hilarious!"

Johanna cackles in amusement and I can't help but laugh slightly too despite my nerves. Marcella flaps around me for a few seconds then nods in satisfaction, "Don't move, don't touch anything and you'll be perfect," she informs me, "good luck Rose, we'd best go get our seats! Don't want to miss the big reunion!" She winks as Claudia gasps and nods furiously. The two woman quickly hurry off and watching them go I almost miss the words Finnick mutters to Johanna, before sauntering over to distract the producing team from where they're preparing.

I'm confused because it can't be more than a minute until the interview is supposed to start and they're clearly stressed. Finnick doesn't seem to care though, he inserts himself into their group and chats animatedly, getting in their way until they pay attention and start fawning over him.

"Come here Thorns," Johanna suddenly pulls me into a hug. I'm so surprised at the public display that I stand rigid and unresponsive.

"Rose, listen to me," Johanna hisses directly into my ear as she hugs me close, "They aren't happy, and when _they_ aren't happy with you, people you care about get hurt! The Games aren't really over until after your Victor's Tour, you gotta keep playing them."

Realising that Finnick really is distracting the producers and that Johanna has good reason for showing she actually does care in front of other people, I quickly hug her back, "Keep dancing like a good monkey," I mutter, frowning into Johanna's shoulder.

"Exactly, be on your best behaviour and keep the Capitol audience on your side. Twelve might prove to be allies, but don't count on it. It's everyone for themselves," she whispers in a hurried rush and pulls away immediately to say in a carrying venom tinged voice, "Do me a favour and don't let Fire Bitch speak, she makes me want to brain her every time she opens her mouth."

I try not to react to the new information. So far everyone had been very tight lipped about whether Katniss and Peeta survived and about what happened in the last few minutes of the Games. I was sure that Peeta at least wouldn't have made it, but if Katniss had… there isn't time for me to be surprised however and I nod to show that I've received the message. Katniss is a large part of the problem, "Bloody tell me about it! Lover Boy isn't as bad though and he'd be put out if you killed her."

Johanna pauses to actually consider my point telling me that Peeta most likely is also alive then nods grudgingly, "He's… well I don't know how someone like that survived the fucking arena…."

 _Four victors._

 _No wonder Snow isn't happy._

Thinking about the lie I'd screamed to save Clove and the effect it had I nod, my stomach knotting as I reflect she's right. Good people don't win the Hunger Games. Peeta should have died in the arena. If the Capitol were vexed with Katniss, and Peeta wasn't meant to be here then logically Cato and I were meant to win… except I don't really think Snow wanted two victors anymore than he wanted four.

Still I understand what Johanna is telling me: I have to make sure the Capitol loves Cato and me. Loves us together and loves us individually.

"You'll be fine," Johanna says, clipped and harsh again, waving a hand dismissively, "I'll be in the wings. In fact…"

Sure enough a man hurries over and timidly asks if Johanna is ready to be escorted to her place. He's clearly relieved when she nods disinterestedly and bellows at Finnick instead of him, "ODAIR! Let them do their bloody job and get your stupidly sexy arse over here!"

"My congratulations Rose," Finnick flashes me the smile that won over the whole country, "Give Two a kiss for me," he smirks and calmly ignores Johanna's irritated expression as he strolls over to her. His words distract me from the sudden, uncomfortable realisation that I was responsible for the deaths of both of his tributes.

"Oh I will," I assure him, my nervous excitement returning as I'm finally left alone. I have time to take a deep breath before the man with the headset is suddenly counting down from ten and looking directly at me with a questioning expression.

I give him a nod and mentally prepare for the noise of the live audience and the bright stage lights. I didn't prepare for the trigger of a rising platform and when the floor beneath me starts to move, terror suddenly floods my system… but no, I'm going to a stage where I get to see Cato again, not the arena. Still the blinding light and deafening applause keeps me rooted to the spot for a second as I force the terror away and a beaming smile onto my face. I don't give Caesar a second glance as I look around wildly.

We spot each other at the same time and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

I forget all about my dress, my heels and poised image. The noise fades to silence and all I can see is him as I fly across the stage. He covers the distance in long, loping strides and we crash into each other with desperate need to prove that we're real. That he's alive and here and it's not some Capitol trick.

"Rose," he chokes, hands cupping my face as mine fly all over his shoulders and torso to make sure he really is in one piece.

"Cato," my voice is a sob and when my arms lock around his neck and pull his lips to mine, I can taste the salt of tears that don't just belong to me.

For the first time since I woke up, utter joy fills me. I finally feel safe and as the worry slips away he crushes me closer, breathing me in and holding me so tight I don't think he'll never let go. My hands fist in his suit jacket and when our kiss ends I bury my face in his chest, even as his tucks into my neck.

"You're here," I whisper to him, "You're really alive."

"Rose," he breathes, "I'm here, baby."

I don't know how long it is before he lifts his head and kisses my forehead. I reluctantly pull away, realising that the cheering is every bit as loud as before. My hand finds Cato's searching one and our fingers entwine tightly together. Too tightly; just in case they try and tear us apart again. I look up at his face and beam in genuine ecstasy. Our eyes lock and his grin widens impossibly before we tear our eyes away to smile and wave for the cameras. We have to dance to their music after all, and I for one want the rest of our reunion to be a little more private.

"Ah here we go!" Caesar laughs, "Looks like we have the lovebirds attention! Let's try this again, shall we?" He asks playfully, "Give it up for Cato Hadley, of District Two, and Rosilda Aspen, of District Seven!"

Cato pumps his fist in the air with a cheer and I cover my grin with a hand in girlish excitement, before waving at the crowd again with a laugh. Cato and I don't let go of each other's hand as we move to the interview area where Katniss and Peeta are already standing, looking just slightly awkward. I eye them with interest. Both appear as unmarred as Cato and I, but Katniss is almost skeletal and there's a tension between her and Peeta that betrays them. Instead of four thrones, there's two love seats and it amuses me that it's very clear which is mine and Cato's. Ours is rich mahogany with a high back and ornate, thick arms like a throne, and blood red cushions. Katniss and Peeta's is much paler pine, looking more sofa-like with a cream cushioned back and softly carved arms.

"Hello Caesar!" I greet happily, my voice coming loud and clear over the speakers as Cato and I nestle in together on the love seat, "You look as amazing as ever!" There's not room for us to sit side by side but Cato easily shifts me to be sitting on his lap so I am leaning against his shoulder and one arm of the chair.

"Oh yes, I'm glad this one won!" Casear jokes, pretending to blush at my compliment, "But you look gorgeous Rosilda! Your stylist has done it again! As has yours, Katniss!"

"Thank you!" I gush before Katniss can even open her mouth, "Marcella is amazingly talented! But all the fashion in the Capitol is just divine; your stylist is really good too Tw— Katniss! You look lovely."

She eyes me suspiciously, an expression that doesn't fit the look her stylist went for. We're polar opposites on the stage. Me in glorious gold and bold black, with seductive makeup and her in girlish pale yellow and light makeup that plays up her youth. I look very much the woman that won the Games; Katniss is a picture of innocence. It makes me wonder how angry President Snow really is.

"Cinna is fantastic," she agrees.

There's a pause as we all expect her to elaborate, but she doesn't. She's still giving me the cautious side eye and I can feel Cato's expression becoming a glare as he stirs beneath me.

"And I see that Twelve is still matching," Caesar encourages, gesturing to Peeta's suit that is the same yellow as Katniss' dress.

"Of course," Peeta jumps in with a charming smile, "Just to let everyone know we're together in case they feel like picking a fight," he teases, throwing a cautionary glance at the audience.

"Oh I think the whole country know you two are together now, Peeta," Caesar laughs with him, while Katniss just smiles in a way that is more of a grimace.

"Told you, you'd win her over," I smirk at Peeta, still trying to work out whether we're going to help each other out or not.

"And I told you he likes you," Peeta grins back.

I shrug and eye Cato suspiciously, "Do you like me?"

"You're okay," he says carelessly much to the audience's amusement, but his arm tightens around me and he kisses the top of my head a moment later.

I laugh with everyone and smile up at him softly before Caesar reclaims the conversation, "Your wardrobe choices are interesting, it seems like we've done a bit of a swap!" He says, indicating Cato and I, "Gold and black are of course the traditional colours of District Two, while green and brown are most definitely District Seven."

I realise for the first time that Cato is wearing brown suit, with a deep green shirt that is the exact shade of my Interview dress from before the games. He has no tie and the relaxed impression it gives suits his arrogant lounge on the chair very well.

"What's mine is her's," Cato smirks, "District Two will be proud to see a Victor like Rose wear our colours."

My eyes find Johanna in the wings without meaning to, because I have much less certainty about my own district accepting Cato… and me. Her grimace speaks volumes, "I for one, think you suit brown and green very much," I say, leaning into Cato and kissing him lightly, "Mine," I whisper in his ear making him smirk and place a possessive hand on my thigh.

"He does, right ladies?" Caesar asks the audience, eliciting a cheer that makes my own arms tighten on Cato, "And I have no doubt Two, Seven and Twelve are all very proud of their victors! Just like us here in the Capitol!"

The interview really gets started after that and the questions come thick and fast. It surprises me how much of a natural Peeta is at charming the audience. Between him, Caesar and me we keep the conversation flowing and lighthearted. Katniss is by far the worst actor of the four of us and the most uncomfortable, but even she does mostly okay. Cato too fields his questions with ease, but is content to let me take the lead, his thumb absently rubbing circles on my leg. This is why I'm so surprised when he suddenly leaps in to answer a question directed at me about my initial feelings and attraction for Cato.

"Well, I have been told I have a panty-dropping smile."

I'm so shocked that for a full three seconds I stare at him with an open mouth, completely forgetting about the eyes of the entire country on me. On the other couch, Katniss chokes audibly and Peeta lets out a surprised bark of laughter. Cato delivers the line with a wide smirk out at the audience, but when he looks at me, he laughs genuinely. That's what makes me realise that the expression on my face is probably hilarious. The look Cato gives me is no less intense, but it's less smouldering than before. It's more personal and it makes my heart swoop. That's what gives me the confidence to place my hand on his chest and lean back to fix him with a haughty, challenging look.

"I can assure you Cato," the crowd quietens to hear my words, "You have absolutely no effect on my panties."

I catch his eye and can see the dancing amusement in his eyes, beneath the scoff he gives for the audience's benefit. Then because he's given me the perfect opening and I can't resist messing with him I flash a wicked smile and I cover the microphone with my hand to lean forward to press my lips right against his ear.

"Because, I'm not wearing any," I breathe, letting my lips linger there for a moment, before pulling back and settling comfortably against the other arm of the loveseat.

The audience can't have heard what I said, but they're laughing and clapping anyway and it's easy to see why. Cato's the one with his mouth hanging open now as he stares at me with darkening eyes. I quirk an eyebrow at him, my smirk only widening as his face steadily drains of colour. It's the long suffering groan that he releases as he finally manages to tear his eyes away, that makes the laughter spill from my lips. I can't help, but turn to look into the wings of the stage and my grin only grows as I see that Johanna is laughing so hard she's clutching Finnick for support. He sees me looking and flashes me a thumbs-up and a smug grin.

"Ladies and Gentleman!" Cato grumbles out, making me snap my eyes back to him, "Rosilda Aspen, the woman that might actually drive me insane."

I throw my head back with laughter, but can't help move closer to him again as he gives me a pathetic look. The minute I reach my hand out to him and lean forward, he's pulling me close and moving us until I'm situated between his legs with my back against his chest. The tight arm around my waist tells me he won't be letting me go anytime soon.

"Knew Mason was out to get me," he whispers into my ear as Caesar directs a question to Peeta.

The huskiness in his voice and the warmth of his body behind me makes a noticeable shiver run down my spine and Cato shakes slightly with laughter as he places a hand deliberately on my thigh and buries his face into my neck. I try to control my expression as he kisses my exposed skin, but I can feel my cheeks getting steadily warmer. I wriggle in my position and place my hand over his, which makes him grumble into my neck and stop the movement of his lips. I snap my attention back to the interview as I realise Peeta has stopped speaking and find that Caesar is directing a comment at me.

"So we had Cato's take on that question Rosilda, but how about yours? What was it that made you initially attracted to Cato?"

"In all honesty," I answer, leaning back into him as he finally lifts his face from my neck and starts paying attention, "I'm not really sure. I mean, he's obviously a little hard to ignore, being the attention-hogger that he is," I tease, turning my head to give him a mischievous smile as I try to decide how to answer Caesar's question.

Cato smiles at me and it's the warmth in his eyes that helps to relax me. Looking at him, the question doesn't seem so uncomfortably personal. So long as he knows, does it matter if everyone else does too? I want them to know how I feel, I want them to know that for us, this is real. It's not something manipulated for the cameras.

"The first time I saw Cato in real life, he was barging out of his room in the Prep Centre," I say, lacing my fingers with his without looking away from his face, "he was angry because of something that had been said about Clove. Like I said in the Games, I'd already picked him out as being somebody that I'd need to watch. I knew the moment he got up on that stage that he deserved my attention, but the fact that he was so angry out of loyalty and protectiveness of his friend, that made him catch my attention in a different way-"

"You snapped at me to watch where I was going," Cato interrupts with a snort that clearly expresses his doubt.

I rolled my eyes at him, a scowl creasing my own forehead,

"I remember the way you were oggling me. Don't deny that you weren't attracted to me then too."

"You were wearing a paper dress!"

"And you weren't wearing a shirt," I shoot back with lifted eyebrows, "But you'll notice that I didn't say anything about that, did I?"

Cato grumbles under his breath,"I didn't have a shirt on and you didn't even seem to notice. You weren't afraid of me and you stuck up for your stylist. Practically naked, no shoes or weapon and you weren't even a little scared of me when I could have snapped your neck in a second."

His expression darkens slightly and his mouth turns down. I tighten my grip on his hand and twist further to touch a hand to his cheek and force him to meet my gaze, "There's a difference between being able to do something and actually doing it," I whisper, "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes soften and he squeezes my hand back the other coming to caress my face.

"Besides," I say louder a wicked smirk finding its way back onto my face, "I'm still adamant that I wouldn't lose to you in a fight."

Both our hands drop away from each other's faces and the glint is back in his eye as a smirk pulls at his mouth once more, "You know I'm always up for spicing things up a little."

I roll my eyes at the innuendo, which the audience predictably laps up, "Sure you can handle me, Two?"

"I know I can," he smirks arrogantly, his eyes smouldering with fire.

"My money's on Rose," Peeta speaks up, which makes me turn to grin at him as I flop back against Cato's chest.

"See, I always knew you were a smart one," I say, my eye's dancing.

Cato remains quiet, but his arm comes back to wrap protectively around my waist and I know that he'll be giving Peeta a harshly appraising look. My eyes slide to Katniss and I find that she's looking at me too. The expression on her face is almost unreadable, but I can see a hint of calculation in her eyes. It gives me a little hope for Peeta.

"Well then," Caesar says, his eyes twinkling, "I think it's safe to say that the story of Cato and Rosilda has been intense and passionate, filled with highs and lows that we've all been privileged enough to share with you. The beginning of that story, is still shrouded in a little mystery, however," the presenter continues, "It seems we might finally be able to piece things together about how this half of our wonderful victors came to be. Katniss and Peeta have of course burned a little slower, but no less as sweetly! I'm sure you're all as excited as I am to have the opportunity to relive all of the highs and all of the lows of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games; these iconic Games that will go down in our history. The tale of how four young individuals managed to beat the odds and find love along the way. Strap in Panem and grab a box of tissues! We all know this is going to be a wild ride!"

 **...**

 **This chapter initially covered the entire interview, but the word count was like 10,000, so I split it in too... means this chapter is quite conversation heavy, but I hope the revelation about who else survived the Games made up for it! Would love to hear what you think!**

 **Seeing as the next chapter is written and just needs a few tweaks, I'll try have it up within the week!**

 **Thank you so much for all the support, I'm still so blown away that anyone actually wants to read what I've written!**

 **Much love,**

 **\- xoxo**


	28. Chapter 28

*** Chapter Twenty-Eight ***

 _The highlight package._

Foreboding makes my stomach churn and Cato's grip on my hand has tightened to the point of pain, but I barely notice it. My heart is thundering in my chest as I realise that this is it. This is the moment where I have to relive all the "most exciting" moments of the Games. If it weren't for Cato's presence, his body behind me and his grip on my hand as an anchor, I can almost guarantee that my body would be freezing up and my mind shutting down. This clarity of exactly what winning the Games alone would have been like, makes me feel as though I've been thrown into another tree. My chest tightens and the only thing that allows me to breathe is Cato.

In some ways it's more awful than I ever could have expected. In other ways it's not. Every year a team of people must work frantically to put a piece together in time for the Victory Ceremony. This year however, they've had their work really cut out for them. This year, they've had to follow the story of not just one person, but four. It's made easier by Katniss and Peeta being in the same district, but it's clear from the beginning that the sheer amount of footage they're packing into the few hours recap is going to be phenomenal.

It's the first time I can remember seeing a recap with voice overs too. While the reapings of the most important players in this year's games are shown, excerpts from interviews, supposedly private conversations and the Games themselves are played.

Instead of starting with District One like they normally do, the first Reaping they show is mine and cut over it is what Fletcher and Tillia said to me in the Justice Building.

"Listen, Rose. You can fight. You've trained-"

"Not to kill people," I hear myself mutter.

"You can do it," Fletcher's voice is just as certain as I remember, "I know you Rosilda. I know you better that anyone else and I know you can win this."

"You're strong. Stronger than all of them!" Tillia's voice shakes with emotion, but there's a fierceness in it that can't be ignored.

"The strongest of all of us. You can win, Rose."

The camera cuts from an image of Linden and I standing side by side as the train doors close on us, to a sweeping bird's-eye view of the forest. It's District Seven and my breath catches at the beauty of the bird's-eye-view. The river, like spilled ribbon, winds it's way through the green and the sky is pale as the sun rises.

"So do you want to hear my top five, or have you completely written me off?" my voice drips with sarcasm and a shot of the dining car on the train flashes across the screen. It's a bad angle, but Johanna is unmistakable and the moment she replies, the other reapings start to play. I name Brinna first and my throat closes with emotion as I hear the detached way I speak about her and watch her walk slowly to the stage. Her head is lowered, but that just makes her copper hair shine brighter in the sun. Then I mention Thresh. My grip on Cato's hand tightens and his thumb starts rubbing small circles onto my hip. The clip they give shows a close up on both his and Rue's face. District Two's reaping is played next and my initial thoughts spoken to Johanna are woven in with some of the things I confessed to Cato during the last days of the Games. The difference in tone makes it clear to me when I've spoken, but there's a quick shot of Cato smirking and leaning forward to kiss me inside the cornucopia to remind everyone else. Then my tone turns positively sardonic as I start on Katniss. They show District Twelve from the moment Katniss pushes forward and screams that she volunteers and my voice weaves in and out adding my insight to the events.

The audio overs continue all throughout the build up to the Games. I soon see why too, because it seems the Capitol truly did have to piece together what happened between Cato and I. Things both of us said during the Games are used with security camera footage from the Training Centre and behind the stage of the Interviews. Of course the clip where Cato lifts me into the chariot is also included with a montage of clips from various Capitol news broadcasts that somewhat contribute to the entire story. For me, there are glaringly obvious things that are missing from the Capitol's story of Cato and my relationship before the Games. They missed the entire part where he told me about the roof, the conversations with Johanna during training and after the interview. Katniss and Peeta's story is woven into ours too of course and the contrast is exceptionally obvious.

Katniss and Peeta are sweetness and innocence. Cato and I are still romanticised of course, but they don't shy away from me declaring I hate him, from Cato's mentors grilling him and harshly ordering him to do whatever it takes to get me in the alliance. There's a whole thirty seconds dedicated to me storming from the elevator, hurling my shoes around, smashing the vase and then crumpling to the ground. The only sound is my quiet sobs. The scene cuts away from Johanna and Linden finding me to Cato his head down and his feet dragging as he moves back into District Two's quarters. Behind me Cato has buried his face in my neck and is breathing deeply. His body shakes slightly behind me as he lifts his head to kiss my cheek and murmur apologies into my ear.

"You don't have to apologise" I whisper back, carefully repositioning so that I'm curled in his lap and can nuzzle into his neck, "It's all part of how we got to be here so I wouldn't change a second."

Cato's arms wrap around me protectively,"I would. I wish I could. I hate knowing that I made you cry. That I hurt you-"

"Shhh," I whisper, lifting my head to kiss his lips softly, "I'm okay now and that's because of you."

Cato shakes his head slightly, but kisses me back sweetly as I press my lips to his once more and then intertwine our fingers as I turn back to the screen.

"So?" Enobaria is demanding, getting to her feet the moment Cato enters the dining room. The tension in the air is notable and for once Clove is not smirking. Her own head is down, but she shoots Cato an anxious glance that turns to one of panic as his shoulders slump further.

"I failed," he says in a clipped voice, "She won't be joining the Alliance."

"I told you it was a terrible idea," Clove bursts out, but shrinks away as Enobaria bares her teeth at her and growls angrily.

"Both of you get out of my sight. You might as well kiss your _lives_ goodbye," she snarls, "At least they can't turn you down and humiliate you and our entire district!"

Cato and Clove both leave the room and move in silence down the corridor, but then Cato stops, "She hates me," he whispers, "I hurt her Clove, I think I really hurt her."

The dark haired girls' mouth twists and I can see the mocking come-back on the tip of her tongue, but then she stops and stares at Cato a moment, "You're an idiot," she states instead, "You never should have taught her how to throw the spear. That's when you went stupid."

Cato shakes his head and Clove does the same a moment later, "No, it was the moment you saw her," she's quiet for a moment, peering at Cato intently, then her dark eyes soften, "I don't think she hates you."

"You heard her. You saw her," his voice cracks on screen and behind me Cato draws in a deep breath, his arm tightening around my waist. I turn my chin into him and squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"What did you do?" Clove whispers staring at him, "Fuck Cato, you're not supposed to look like shit the night before the Games start! What did you do?"

"I kissed her," Cato mutters and drags a hand through his hair and across his face, "I kissed her and…"

Clove's eyes widen, "You actually did what Enobaria told you to?"

Cato on screen shakes his head and groans, "I did something even worse," he whispers, "worse than kissing someone on orders."

"You wanted to," Clove murmurs her mouth dropping open, "Like… more than just lust, wanted to. Damn it Cato!" she scowls darkly, "You couldn't just have some fun with Glimmer?"

He doesn't respond, just shakes his head and closes his eyes. Clove inhales deeply and concern reappears on her face as she evaluates him. Then she reaches out and touches his shoulder, "I'm not good at this feelings crap, but," she exhales noisily, "she's got a chance Cato. A good chance. You'll see her again. You just have to decide if you want her to see Cato the tribute, or Cato the person," her lips curl up, "She probably thinks you have multiple personalities with all the crap you've been pulling."

"You're shit at this comforting thing," Cato states, shaking her hand off his shoulder, "Absolutely fucking terrible."

Clove rolls her eyes, "The way I see it, you've now got some actual experience to put in your spank-bank so stop your whining and—"

The camera cuts away as Cato let out an indignant cry and shoves Clove away from him with a scowl. The sound of her laughter carries over to the next scene which is a bird's-eye view of the arena. Dramatic music booms over the speakers and the voices of Capitol presenters announcing that it is the big day, lap over each other as the view of the arena time lapses until the tributes rise up.

I take a long deep breath and try to detach as I watch the next hour and a half. I see Brinna, Linden and Peeta run into the forest. I watch myself fight Bien and am shocked to see Katniss sprint further into the bloodbath to tackle a tribute who was sneaking up on Rue. She slashes him desperately with a knife and I realise it's the boy from Six who Cato tried to kill and I took the fall for in Training. He's not much older than Rue, but remembering how desperately Katniss protected her sister I realise it wouldn't matter who had attacked the little girl from Eleven. While I fatally wound Bien, Katniss similarly injuries the young boy. Rue hesitates as Katniss scrambles away from the boy and I gasp as Clove's knife hits her directly in the middle of her forehead. Katniss turns to her and cries out, leaping to catch the little girl as she falls to the ground.

I see Cato's spear stop the young girl from Three stabbing me in the back. The moment where Cato and I stare at each other is intensified by the loud music and by the split screen that shows Katniss forced to leave Rue and sprint for her life. She hitches her backpack higher just in time to protect herself from Clove's knife. Clove might have caught her if she hand't paused to finish off the boy from Six that Katniss had severely injured.

It reminds me that it was really Cato who finished off Bien and that neither she or I would have been credited with a Bloodbath death. Katniss levels Cato with a hate-filled glare that does not match her sweetly innocent costuming. Clove was his district partner and I'm not sure she will ever forget who killed Rue.

The moment Katniss escapes into the trees is the same that I suddenly turn and sprint for the lake. Cato's arms tighten around me in real life as he follows after me on-screen, viciously finishing off Three and only turning away from watching me swim when Clove yells his name. The pair finish the rest of the fight together like they were no-doubt trained to do. Cato protecting Clove as she focuses on bringing down all who try to run with her knives. Together they would have been credited with almost every Bloodbath kill, clinically finishing off those cut down by their allies. It's Marvel who brings the boy from Three into the alliance. Cato dislikes Bomb-Boy from the start and Clove has to hold him back long enough to listen to the plan.

It's interesting to see the Games like this. To feel the way Cato reacts as he sees that I had the opportunity to kill him on the first day and didn't take it. To know how close Katniss was to dying from dehydration. I learn that Glimmer tried to make a move on Cato but was rejected, that Cato practically carried Clove along because she froze up with fear during the forest fire and that Peeta glimpsed Brinna stealing food and distracted Marvel so he wouldn't see. Linden's death is just as sudden and hurried as it was in real life. One moment he's stumbling along beside me and the next he's telling me to run. The cannon seems to go off quicker than I remember too. I throw myself out of the way of a fireball and then stand up and turn back only to have a burning branch fall in my face. His name drops from my lips and then with a sob I turn and start running. The cannon comes almost instantly. Cato whispers promises that it'll be okay in my ear, but I barely hear them. There's a lump in my throat, but I can only cling to Cato and stare at the screen, wishing that I could cry.

It's safe to say that the Tracker-Jacker scene is uncomfortable for all of us. Especially since the Capitol plays the audio of me condemning the Girl-on-Fire to Brinna.

"I was literally stuck up the same tree as her and she tried to kill me. We are nothing to her!"

I can feel the eyes of the pair from Twelve on me for the entire confrontation after the nest. Me covering Glimmer and speaking quietly and Katniss barging in and then attacking me. Peeta throwing me into the tree and then me choosing to help Cato. The hours I spend looking after him is contrasted with the clear panic he feels as he tries to help me after the dog mauled me. The make-out session we had against the tree is coupled with images of Katniss and Peeta both passed out, and Brinna stealing from the Careers as Clove hikes back to the place where the Tracker-Jacker nest fell. She looks desperately for any sign of Cato and it's only a timely sponsor-gift that appears to help her keep it together as she's forced to go back to camp without him. Cato was right, they did send her extra throwing knives. The scene where he returns to the cornucopia and I sit down and bury my face in my hands and wonder aloud why I'm such an idiot is lingered on and it makes Cato lower his head to rest his chin on the top of my head. I know it must be hard to watch his interaction with Clove and it's our turn to pin Katniss with an unforgiving stare.

It's hard to watch me plotting and scheming with Brinna too, and I refuse to acknowledge the stares from Katniss. I want to look away when I watch myself move to put out the fire, but I force myself to watch the short, but violent tussle with the boy from Ten. Peeta stares at me during that too and I wonder if they both assumed it was Cato that killed him.

Cato laughs out loud when Peeta pops out of the riverbank during my monologue, "I knew you were crazy," he whispers, kissing the top of my head tenderly as I clean Peeta's wounds.

Katniss only stares some more.

The rest of the recap is just as hard to watch. I hold Cato tighter when Katniss blows up the supplies and my mocking voice saying,"Goodbye District Three," comes over the speaker as Cato kills him and Katniss drags herself to safety in the knick of time.

Brinna's death does make me cry and because it's coupled immediately with the announcement that two people can win, it makes Peeta and Katniss' eyes bore into me once more. I watch the relief on Clove's face, the hope on Katniss and Peeta's and then the defeat on my own. Thresh is just as stony faced as ever and he shakes his head and snorts, "You're still causing me problems, Seven," he mutters to himself, making guilt churn in my stomach.

The next twenty minutes are dedicated to the action packed last few days. Violence and fighting is sandwiched with the awkward sweetness of Katniss and Peeta and the more passionate scenes of Cato and I. The attentive way that Katniss cares for Peeta surprises me almost as much as Cato and I surprise her. I don't think she thought we were real. I think she thought that our relationship was born from pure lust, hyped up for drama to get sponsors.

"Katniss killed her!"

Knowing now that Katniss tried to save Rue, the lie is all the more terrible. Peeta stares at me in shock and Katniss hides her face in his shirt as her arrow takes Clove's life. _Coward_.

I whisper in Cato's ear, but his attention is fixed on Katniss. In front of her murderer he shows only rage and the promise of retribution. I refuse to look away as the rest of the violent tussle is lingered on. It is depicted as clear that it was either going to be Thresh or me; one of us was going to die and the blade fell on Thresh's neck. It's the bloodiest death of the Games, made all the more vicious by the psychological elements involved.

Rue was a missing piece of the story. A loose string that the Capitol had found and was now pulling on mercilessly. She had died on the first day, but only because I had befriended her. Katniss and Thresh had wanted to save her. Clove killed Rue. Katniss killed Clove. I tried to kill Katniss and instead killed Thresh.

Then Katniss tried to kill herself…

I barely look away from the screen for the entire recap. I killed people and people I cared about died. I was going to face those facts. Cato's hands tighten to the point of pain when they show me lunging at him and then going limp as he pins me and starts to squeeze my neck. I stroke his face and tell him I forgive him as he stares at me with haunted, horrified eyes. Katniss and Peeta stare some more, especially as Cato then sews up the wound Katniss inflicted and holds me with careful tenderness as I swear like a good lumberjack.

The final scene at the cornucopia when I fling my knife a moment too late to take down the archer makes Cato start to shake. My horrified scream as Cato falls off the cornucopia is followed immediately by me launching myself off it. I look heartbroken and then absolutely feral. I hadn't realised that the mutt I took down as I jumped saved Peeta's life. It gave him the chance to get his feet and seize Cato's fallen sword. The camera moves away from him and focuses on me as I fight my way to Cato's side.

Somehow they manage to linger on the frantic way we cling to each other when I reach him. It can't have been more than a split second before we were fighting for our lives again, but the moment is clear and the relief on my face is undeniable. Nobody can say I jumped for any reason besides him.

We see Peeta bring down a mutt that leaps at him and then climb over it to shelter inside the cornucopia as two more try and come at him. His expression is grimly determined and pained, and his scream when one of the mutts gets hold of his leg is inhuman. I don't know how I missed it, but the memory of the deafening sound of my own blood-thundering in my ears is clear. Cato is on the ground and doesn't react either, but back on top of the cornucopia, Katniss screams too. She's used her last arrow and had thrown her knife at the head of one of the mutts attacking Peeta so is weaponless and simply screams and tries to stop the blood pouring from her shoulder blade where my knife is still deeply embedded. Whilst Katniss had tried to get Peeta back on top of the cornucopia, yelled at him to climb and tried to grab his arm to hoist him to safety, Cato and I were depicted to be constantly fighting to get to the other's side.

When Peeta crumples, Katniss screams and yanks the knife from her own shoulder. She hits one of the mutts sniffing around the mouth of the cornucopia right in the eye and it goes down silently. It's strange the way I missed it. I'm being flattened by a mutt when she first starts yelling, but when she makes her final threat, I'm caught in the split second moment of silent horror at seeing Cato on the ground.

"I'll do it!" Katniss roars holding up a fistful of nightlock berries, furious and hysterical, "Turn me into a mutt too! You won't get a victor! I won't let you have one!"

I look over at her and see that she's staring, transfixed and curiously blank faced at the screen. Peeta looks faintly nauseous beside her and the space between them on the love seat seems to be infinite. Cato shifts under me and his arms tighten as the screen fills with his prone form and my heartbroken horror.

"Cato! NO! You can't have him!" I shriek frantically and the film makes it clear that it's my desperation to save him that gives me strength. Even though my words strangely echo Katniss', they don't seem to realise I had wanted to save my perverted district partner just as much as I wanted to save Cato.

I can't tear my eyes from the screen now, but I press myself closer to Cato and his steady heartbeat to reassure myself he's safe and alive. The cinematography makes it seems that I killed the mutt - Linden's mutt - with my final breaths. It shows that I collapsed onto Cato, capturing my fists clenching around him, holding us together with dying strength. Katniss dropped the berries into her mouth as my eyes fluttered closed. Then suddenly the trumpets are sounding and she's spitting them out. The camera flicks to Peeta, a pool of blood clear around him. Then to Cato and I, being pawed at by mutts but locked together and unmoving. Then it settles back on Katniss as she slumps into unconsciousness herself. I don't know whether it's blood-loss or a tiny amount of ingested poison reaching her stomach, but the screen goes dark and the flatlining sound of a heart monitor replaces all sound. It flatlines for a long time, then suddenly it beeps, and then beeps again. The screen comes back on to show two heartbeats instead of one. Their rhythm strips are slightly different, making it clear they belong to two different people, but they started activity at the same time and they beep in synchronisation for a few beats. The film cuts as they even out and change and it's only the deafening applause from the Capitol that shakes me enough to realise it's over - we survived the tape.

I sag back into Cato and plaster a victorious smile on my face as I clap too.

"That was definitely us," Cato says to me with a smirk, nodding to the screen that had just shown the EKG. It's loud enough for the microphones to pick up and laughter ripples through the applause as I pretend to roll my eyes at boyish competitiveness as he throws a challenging look at Katniss and Peeta.

The pair from Twelve still haven't realised they've separated from each other as they've watched the clip, but when they meet our gaze, Peeta's hand jumps protectively to Katniss and they suddenly reconnect themselves. Peeta's move seemed unconscious, but Katniss glances towards her mentor as she shifts and I wonder at her motivations for her attempted suicide. I knew she was the cause of the problem. I knew she was the reason we had to walk like we were on rotten wood.

"Well now! That was an action-packed tape! My congratulations to Chief Editor Torrent Domitian and our Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane for such a memorable Games and some superb cinematography!" Caesar exclaims, wiping his brow as if he's overwhelmed, "give it up for them!"

When the applause dies down Caesar launches into more questions. The interview starts well, Cato and I field our questions easily enough and Peeta's natural charm carries Katniss too. Still it seems like every question is loaded and I find it increasingly impossible to forget the eyes of the whole country on me.

"Obviously there are many key moments in the Games," Flickerman says slowly and dramatically, his eyes scanning the audience solemnly, then turning to us, "but there are some choices which have a huge impact on the way things play out. Moments when alliances are formed and broken. The choice to run or fight. The choice to lie or tell the truth…"

The way his eyes pause on me makes my stomach turn and I have to concentrate immensely to keep the stress from showing in my expression. _Katniss killed her…_

"Peeta…" the blonde shifts uncomfortably under Caesar's suddenly fixed gaze, "What made you decide to join up with the Elite Alliance?"

 _What made you betray your district and ally with the Careers?_

"I… I had no choice," Peeta looks down at Katniss and swallows visibly, "After she got her eleven… I had to try and protect her and the best way to do that was by joining those most likely to kill her."

Cato tenses beneath me and lets out a hiss of breath through gritted teeth. I almost turn to comfort him, but then Peeta continues and his words immediately fix my gaze on him.

"Like Linden said in the Interviews: he knew his district partner had a better shot than him, so he knew that if he had to pick… he'd pick her. Katniss didn't have any of Rose's advantages… she needed someone in the Pack keeping an eye out for her too."

"Advantages?" Cato growls, though I can't tell if it's him or me that's shaking, "What did Rose have going for her that The-Girl-On-Fire didn't have?" he hisses furiously, protective arms tightening around me as he leans forward threateningly in his seat.

"You," Katniss is the one who answers, her voice harsh and stony as she unflinchingly meets Cato's eye, "her very own territorial guard dog—"

"Watch it Everdeen," I cut her off in a low menacing tone, "it won't take much for me to show you exactly how territorial I can be."

"Better a guard dog than a whining mutt," Cato adds in a low rumble, his eyes unforgivingly fixed on Peeta, "in Two we put those sort of dogs out of their misery!"

"Then you wouldn't know that the downtrodden are always the ones who best know how to survive!" Katniss spits back with some of the fire that earned her her title.

Unfortunately for her, this statement only makes me laugh. Cato, who had swollen up with even more fury at her condescending, ignorant comment silences under the hand I lay to his chest.

"We wouldn't have got to where we are now if we hadn't had things in our pasts that made us stronger," I inform her quietly, speaking for both Cato and myself, "the difference is, we've risen above what life handed to us and we don't need anyone else to tell us so to make us feel like a victor. I am no longer the same girl I used to be and I am grateful for every single thing that brought me to this moment. You don't keep fighting for a better life just to sit and look back on how 'downtrodden' you were! You thank every single person, event and thing that allowed you to get to where you are and you go on to enjoy the rewards of what you've earned; the glory and honour of victory. Until you can accept what happened, shoulder your mistakes, acknowledge the support you received, feel honoured to be where you are and look at the future without the past clouding your eyes, you have not truly survived."

I hold her gaze strongly, trying to convey the warning hidden in my words. She's digging herself a hole. _She's digging herself a grave._

Unfortunately, Katniss is clearly not as intelligent as her mentor thinks she is, because her eyes narrow into slits, "You're grateful!" she all but roars at me, "what is that supposed to mean Aspen?"

"It means," I grind out tersely, "that I will never take the fact that I am sitting here for granted! Twenty-one people sacrificed themselves for _the greater good of Panem_ for me to sit here, Capitol citizens sent me life saving gifts so I could sit here, the districts endured for years so I could sit here. It's thanks to the sacrifices of so many others that I am sitting here, the support of Panem as much as any of my own merits. I'm not a _survivor_ , I'm a _victor_ and I will be grateful and proud of that for every single day of my life, but it won't be my past that defines me. Those that live in the past, corrupt the future and my future is something that I'm only going to protect, because—"

"Otherwise what was the point?" Cato finishes for me in a rather sardonic tone, flashing Katniss a smirk that I'm sure will only disturb her. The crowd is silent for a moment, then a roar of approval starts. The Capitol loves us. The proud, bloody, passionate pair that burn so much brighter and so much more _familiarly_ than Katniss' candlelight and leaping infernos.

"Which is why, I'd like to take the opportunity to say thank you," I turn my attention to the audience with a wide smile and they quieten slightly to hear me, "Thank you to all our sponsors! Thank you to all our supporters! Thank you to each and every one of you that has been with Cato and I for even part of the journey! Your love, your sacrifice and your belief is the reason we have these crowns and it's a reason we're never going to forget."

"You gave Rose and I each other," Cato's grip has tightened to the point of pain again and I can sense a similar intensity under his winning smile that betrays the true extent of his purpose, "I didn't…" he closes his eyes and then turns to look at me, there's frustration in his gaze, but determination too and sensing how important whatever he's trying to do is, I lift my hand to his cheek encouragingly, "I didn't really think… think that… love was real. I now know that it is possible to have something this good and hold onto it and I'm going to hold on," his gaze burns into me and his voice deepens with intensity, "I'm going to hold onto you so tight… or as tight as you will let me."

"Careful Cato," I smirk at him, though my eyes are soft, "haven't you heard that Rose's have thorns?"

"The thorns are what makes the flower all the more beautiful," Cato tells me and it would be pure sweetness but for the devilish glint in his darkening eyes, "I like your thorns."

This makes another shiver of anticipation go down my spine, while the audience gasps and coos. I wouldn't be surprised to learn some of the Capitolites have been reduced to tears. The noise is phenomenal, but after registering that I have succeeded — that we have succeeded — I can block it all out and focus on him. Just him.

It's only been hours and I already know the only thing that'll keep my picks lodged in the tree-trunk, my head above the current and a smile on my face will be him. With Cato at my side, I can navigate the rotten branches of Capitol politics and I can do so without losing sight of the healthy roots.

 **...**

 **Another wordy chapter, but I think it was necessary to tie up the loose ends and explain exactly how all four of them won. Only a couple of chapters left now, so please let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks so much for all the support!**

 **-xoxo**


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